By Its Cover
by Ann3
Summary: This is going to be a series of stories covering the team's 'first impressions' of a certain Scottish doctor. The first gives a little tip of the hat to Richard Dean Anderson's other famous creation. Chapter three McKay updated, please R&R !
1. Chapter 1 Medical MacGyver

By Its Cover

By Ann3

Writer's Note: This is the first in a continuing series of 'first impressions' stories, just to show how deceptive they can sometimes be.

For John Sheppard's point of view, I've set this story as a missing scene for Rising.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these wonderful characters – although I kinda wish I did !

As always, I hope you enjoy, please let me know if you do !

Chapter One – Medical MacGyver

There were times, John Sheppard reflected, when he really didn't mind being proved wrong. Like the misgivings he'd felt when he'd first been offered this once-in-a-lifetime mission. To think he'd come so damn close to turning it down. Come so close to making such a complete…

'…_ass of myself_…'

That he'd been so completely, arrogantly, and now so regrettably wrong about his fallen CO.

'…_semper_ _fi_, _Colonel_…'

He'd passed the same harsh misjudgment on another pivotal member of Elizabeth Weir's team.

Of course, his urge to drop kick Carson Beckett all the way to McMurdo _had_ been justified at the time. After all, the Scottish doctor _had_ just come within a whisker of blasting him out of the sky. But his apology, however nervous and terrified of reprisal, had come undeniably from the heart. Faced with such open sincerity, it would have taken another made of granite not to accept it.

Even so, there had still been lingering niggles of doubt in John's mind as they'd set out for Atlantis. Was Carson Beckett _really_ the best choice of CMO for such a groundbreaking mission…?

Less than an hour ago, John Sheppard had still been harbouring serious doubts that he wasn't. With so many unknown dangers facing them, there were bound to be casualties, and losses, and… well, this jittery bundle of Scottish nerves hardly seemed qualified to handle such stressful demands.

In strangely perverse irony, that exact scenario had swept every one of those doubts from his mind.

No sooner had they returned to Atlantis than John Sheppard had taken his Jumper straight out again – joining a fleet of others to rescue their Athosian allies before the Wraith took their brutal revenge. They'd returned, by the skin of their teeth, with as many survivors as the Jumpers could carry.

Those same traumatised refugees had then descended on a still woefully unprepared Infirmary. Yet Carson Beckett had taken charge of their care in a transformation that had bordered on miraculous.

Admittedly he'd sworn several oaths at first, ones that had nothing at all to do with Hippocrates, but… well, that was probably more due to a box of supplies he'd been startled into dropping on his foot.

Within seconds, though, a furious glare towards the culprits had changed to wide eyed, outraged dismay.

"_Bloody hell_, _Major_, _they_'_re_ – _they_'_re_ _just wee bairns_…!"

Whatever an equally shaken John Sheppard had said in reply had been lost in a flurry of activity – all of it generated by the brisk Scottish brogue which had then cut effortlessly through the chaos.

"_Right then_, _lads and lassies_, _this is what we_'_ve_ _been trained to expect_, _so let's get to it now_. _And too many cooks ruin a bloody good broth_, _so I want three runners in sole charge of supplies_. _Since you were in charge of packing them_, _Max_, _that_'_ll_ _be yourself with the rest of your team_. _Everyone else_, _you_'_re with me_. _Triage and red tags in here_, _sub-wards for the greens and yellows_. _And we_'_ve_ _a lot of frightened wee bairns here_, _so let_'_s_ _make sure we don_'_t_ _traumatise them any more than they are already_. _Any questions_...? _No_…? _Good_. _Right then_, _people_, _let_'_s get our sleeves up and get to work_…"

They had, too, all following their leader's example with the same methodical, unflappable calm.

Staying sensibly out of their way, John Sheppard had become an increasingly humbled bystander. No one appreciated the importance of keeping a cool head in times of crisis more than he did. How critical it was for those in command to have the confidence of the people who served under them.

Carson Beckett had clearly gained that vital trust and respect, from every member of his medical staff. John Sheppard now proudly, if still somewhat guiltily, counted himself among them.

He'd seen his own share of hospitals too, of course. More often than he really wanted to remember. Very few doctors that he'd met in those times, though, could hold a candle to the one beside him now.

In bedside manner alone, that unique talent for soothing smalltalk, Carson Beckett left them standing. Unfortunately, that attribute was totally lost on his current, stubbornly unimpressed patient.

At any other time, John Sheppard might have smiled at the charming sight before him. One tiny child, making more noise than all others combined, running rings around a hapless adult. Then again, after what she'd just been through, neither of those adults felt much like laughing.

Little wonder, then, that kid gloves now replaced latex as Carson tried, yet again, to calm her down.

He'd already settled himself to sit on the floor, to make himself as unthreatening as possible, but… no, those continuing screams and sobs still betrayed a deep rooted fear of him that he just couldn't explain. All he was trying to do was listen to her heart. Yet each time he reached out with his stethoscope…

"Och, is _this_ what's scaring you, wee lassie…?" he asked softly, following the line of terrified eyes – allowing himself a trace of a smile as telltale curiosity within them told him he was on the right track.

With slow, carefully unthreatening movements, he then lifted his stethoscope from around his neck – dropping his voice to yet another soothing level, almost to a whisper, as he laid it out across his lap.

"Aye, lassie, I know… it's an odd looking thing, isn't it…? I can see why it would frighten you, but… well, you see, that's a shame, because he's ever so lonely. That's why he sleeps round my neck. He likes it there, because… well, because he knows I'll keep him nice and warm and safe. His name is Mr Thumpity, and he's _ever_ so nice. He's my friend, and he wants to be _your_ friend too. He knows you're lonely, and scared, just like he is. That's why he wants to meet you so much…"

Sensing that children on Athos loved a good secret as much as those on Earth, Carson then smiled – making a show of looking around him, before dropping his voice to a playful, conspiratory whisper.

"Hey, you want to know _how_ I can tell he wants to be your friend…? It's because he _talks_ to me…"

That won him a still trembly-lipped, but so vital, frown of puzzlement from his young patient – and a just as curious, raised eyebrow glance from an equally enthralled John Sheppard.

He was _way_ too old now for such stories, of course, but this one certainly had him intrigued. Magical stethoscopes that came to life…? Told you it wanted to be friends by _talking_ to you…?

A quick glance around the shelves behind them brought its own, dryly irreverent conclusions.

'_I gotta say_, _doc_, _I_'_m_ _kinda_ _wondering_ _now_ _what_ _you_'_ve_ _packed in these boxes_…'

"…and you know something else…? Major Sheppard's friends with him too. Aren't you, Major…? And he's going to let you listen to them, to show you what good friends they are. _Right_, Major…?"

'_Make that **seriously** wondering_, _and_… _say **what**_…!'

Still blinking from this startling bombshell, John stared down into two pairs of expectantly hopeful blue eyes – dryly noting that those of Carson Beckett held the same child like appeal as those of his patient.

Promising himself payback for that expression at a more suitable time, John grinned back at him – guessing from a comically rueful wince that the good doctor had already worked that out for himself. For now, though, it was the _slightly_ more serious business of meeting this mysterious 'friend'.

If truth be told, John had now guessed its identity as he sat down on the floor at Carson's side. After such a traumatic few days, though, the inner child within him couldn't resist playing along – his subtle cough and deadpan reminder met with another of those irresistibly likeable grins.

"Say, doc…? You might want to get Mr Thumpity nice and warm _before_ he says hello… _okay_…?"

None of this made any sense, of course, to a still confused and frightened six year old child. The vigorous rubbing of a small metal disk against a bright white coat meant nothing to her. Nor did the strangely comforting noises which this intriguing new playmate then allowed her to hear.

But then, as John and Carson both noted in shared, genuine relief, that didn't really matter – because the tearful sniffles were, at last, giving way to the beginnings of a shy, spellbound smile. A new friend, it seemed, however strange it felt or looked like, brought the same reassuring comfort.

And when another held and rocked you so gently in their arms, making you feel so warm and safe – well, suddenly it didn't matter where, or how far he'd came from, or how funny his voice sounded. Such a snuggly friend was just so good to have, especially when he had his very own Mr Thumpity.

Yes, it was good to have this other Mr Thumpity for a friend. He made you feel so warm, so safe.

So sleepy too. So incredibly, _incredibly_ sleepy…

After such an exhausting day, that soft Scottish brogue was almost sending John Sheppard to sleep too And while he knew he had far more urgent things to do than watch this masterclass in paediatrics – well, the success it now finally achieved had already convinced him they could wait just a little longer. After all, who was he to deny its teacher this long awaited, so very precious moment of glory…?

Not that he'd want, or take, or expect any credit for that glory, John mused, still quietly watching him. Just being here, doing the job he so clearly loved, was all this remarkable doctor would ever need.

Remarkable…? It was a term of respect and recognition that John Sheppard didn't give out lightly.

Just a few days ago, the chances of Carson Beckett earning a fraction of either seemed as likely as – well, as likely as bringing the Wraith back to Atlantis for a friendly neighbourhood barbecue.

He'd earned that respect and admiration now, though – just as Marshall Sumner had done. And while John Sheppard would always regret the arrogance which had denied his CO that honour… well, at least he knew he'd learned his lesson in time to _never_ make that mistake again.

So those honouring words, when they finally came, held no cockiness, just heartfelt admiration – his smile conveying the same warmth as he recognised, and quietly lauded, Atlantis' unlikeliest hero.

"Nice work, doc…"

Startled blue eyes blinked back at him, in open surprise at this unexpected vote of approval. The quiet reply which followed bore no suspicion of those earlier, prejudiced thoughts – only the simple, straightforward honesty which formed the core of Carson Beckett's soul.

"Just doing my job, son. Just doing my job…"

Yet for all that, John still felt he had to say more, if only to ease his conscience just a little further – the warmth in friendly blue eyes telling him, with unspoken understanding, that he didn't need to.

So instead he accepted, and returned, the smile that followed in the friendship it so simply offered – sharing a wry chuckle of laughter as another new friendship took a charmingly inevitable turn. Magical stethoscopes, it seemed, could be loved by a sleeping child every bit as much as a teddy bear.

"Say, doc…? I kinda think Mr Thumpity's found a new friend to sleep with tonight…" he whispered – suspicion of past practice and experience confirmed by a rueful nod as Carson rose carefully to his feet

"Aye, lad, he usually does…" he sighed, the grin growing wider as he nodded towards a stack of boxes. "Luckily I brought plenty of his friends with me to… um… take his place…"

"Figures…" John retorted dryly, noting in quiet relief that Carson had been too distracted to hear him. As he'd seen at the SGC, and when they'd unpacked their supplies, this was one deceptively strong doctor. For all his gentleness and cheerily friendly nature, you crossed Carson Beckett at your foolish peril.

Settling instead for much safer, justly respectful ground, John followed him into an adjoining ward – watching in genuine pride as, with typical gentleness, Carson settled his still sleeping charge into bed.

Tucking Mr Thumpity in beside her, he frowned for a moment, before the grin happily re-appeared.

"Keep an eye on her for me, son, in case she wakes up. It's okay, I'll be right back…" he whispered – giving the startled John Sheppard little choice in the matter as he vanished into a nearby store-room.

When he returned, still grinning, a few minutes later, it was all John could do not to collapse with laughter. Okay, so a teddy bear made from rolls of gauze wouldn't give Steiff too much competition, but… well, you still had to give credit where it was due. And boy, was it ever due here.

"MacGyver would be _so_ proud…" he said at last, shaking his head at such improvised brilliance – not knowing, though, whether to laugh at the slyly winked response or run for the nearest bunker.

"Och, that's nothing, son. You should see what I can do with some tin foil, a Hula hoop and half a dozen paper clips…"

Quite what this quirky, irrepressibly likeable little doctor had lined up by way of a demonstration was anyone's guess. But there was one point on which John Sheppard was now genuinely, and unshakeably, convinced. For all his eccentricities, Carson Beckett was one hell of a doctor. One of the best he'd ever seen.

More than that, he was _their_ Chief Medical Officer – and for that, John Sheppard was truly grateful.

Watching him, all gently business-like seriousness now as he tended over his patient, John's smile proudly widened. Oh yes, he was grateful alright. He was very grateful indeed.


	2. Chapter 2 Dr Destruction

By Its Cover

By Ann3

Writer's Note: I've always loved the special bond that Teyla has with Carson. But at the same time, I've often wondered what their first real encounter might have been like. So I threw that thought in with his rather more... um... destructive tendencies, an overheard conversation, a displaced and unsettled Athosian leader - and came up with this.

As with Sheppard's point of view, it's based around the events in Rising, but moves later on in the story to a few days afterwards. There's also reference made to the SG1 episode Heroes.

As always, I hope you enjoy !

Chapter Two - Dr Destruction

She was running out of reasons not to go and seek his advice. He was, after all, the 'crazy Scotsman...''Dr Destruction…' who'd almost shot down Major Sheppard.

The pain in her wrist was getting worse, though, to the extent that she could barely move it. Shoving Aiden Ford out of that culling beam had clearly caused more damage than she'd first felt.

If she was to be any use at all to her new allies, she was going to need _all_ her fitness. All her strength. And if that meant seeking help from the forebiddingly named 'Dr Destruction' then… well, so be it.

Still mulling over what she'd overhead as she'd passed the Commissary, Teyla then blinked. Without even being aware of it, she now stood, as though almost guided to it, outside the Infirmary.

Her sacred Ancestors would say she'd been led here to him by fate, yet… well, her doubts still lingered.

Guiltily wondering when she'd lost such vital faith, Teyla took a final, nerve-steadying breath – allowing more of that fated guidance to take her into the daunting domain of Dr Carson Beckett.

He'd seemed pleasant enough, what she'd seen of him, at least, during last night's celebrations – Dr McKay's 'citrus emergency' forcing him to leave it before she'd had a chance to talk to him, but…

"Ye look a wee bit lost there, lass… can I help ye…?"

Startled by this peculiarly accented voice, Teyla spun, with finely honed speed, to face its source – her instinctive reaction met not with the resistance she'd expected, but rather a wide-eyed, fearful yelp.

Realising, with some alarm, how brashly she'd reacted, Teyla retracted her hand just as quickly – her attempts to explain and apologise forestalled by one of the gentlest, kindest smiles she'd ever seen.

"It's alright, lass, that was my fault, it… well, it was bloody stupid of me to startle ye like that, and… I'm sorry, lass, are ye alright…? Is there something I can help ye with…?"

Soothed by that voice now, recognising the open concern within it, Teyla finally nodded and smiled – taking advantage of this awkward moment between them to take her first, up-close look at Dr Carson Beckett.

It was his face, his eyes especially, which now caught, and held, her startled attention. Startlingly blue, they also held a gentleness every bit as natural, every bit as sincere, as his smile.

John Sheppard's eyes had been friendly too, of course, and just as honest, but… well, not as innately friendly as these.

At the moment, though, those eyes were still frowning slightly, holding hers in puzzled concern – the awkward expectancy within them finally reminding her of the question she had yet to answer.

"Yes, thank you, I – I am fine…" she said at last, tearing her eyes, with some difficulty, away from his, "And I – I am sorry if I hurt you, as I pushed you away… I am afraid I over-reacted when you…"

"…startled the bejeepers out o' ye…" he finished for her, the smile growing into an equally charming grin. "Like I said, lass, it was _my_ fault… I really have tae remember that I'm not back home any more…"

It had passed through them within seconds, but Teyla had still seen the sadness flit through his eyes – confirming her suspicions that he felt as lonely and overwhelmed on this strange and dangerous new world as she did.

Before she could commiserate with him, though, the smile returned to its full, distracting strength. Even without that smile to distract her, Teyla still found herself staring at him in astonishment. _This_ was Dr Destruction…? _This_ was the doctor who'd caused such chaos on his own world…?

He seemed so harmless and unthreatening, the last person you'd expect to cause upset or trouble. She'd realised that now. Seen it in the fear and alarm which had just flashed through his eyes as her hand had slammed against his chest. Dr Carson Beckett clearly avoided confrontations, whatever the cause or kind, wherever possible.

Her surprise was such that her reaction, instantly regretted, escaped before she could contain it.

"You are this – this Dr Destruction I have been warned about…?"

This unjust reputation was clearly familiar to him too, since his eyes now changed once more – the pain within them staying noticeably longer this time as he sighed, wearily shrugging his shoulders.

"Aye, lass… aye, that's me… Dr Destruction, at your service…"

No stranger herself to hurtful derision, insensitive prejudice, Teyla reached once more for his arm – the firm squeeze upon it, the deliberate use of his proper name and title, met with a shyly appreciative smile.

"I am pleased to meet you, Dr Beckett… and I am sorry if I have caused you any pain or offence…"

To her surprised relief, the smile had already grown stronger, restoring the playful twinkle in his eyes.

"Och, forget it, lass… ye cannae blame yourself for other people's ignorance…" he assured her – the mischievous grin on his face suggesting that such ignorance came at a deservedly painful cost. "Besides, what those eejits tend to forget is that _I_'_m_ responsible for their vaccinations, and…"

The smile then faded slightly as Carson noticed the telltale favouring of a protectively cradled wrist.

"Sorry, lass… here's me, bletherin' on, and here's you, I'm guessin', hurt and needin' my help, and… och, never mind my blethers, Teyla… let's get ye up on this wee couch here, and take a look at ye…"

Still struggling to understand what he was saying, Teyla hadn't even noticed this first use of her name. Finally smiling in recognition of its significance, she allowed herself to be gently guided by his hand towards a nearby couch – grateful just to let the lifts and falls of his voice wash over her, soothing away her apprehension.

She'd heard countless voices, of course, through her contact with John Sheppard and his team, but… no, this one, with its peculiar cadences and puzzling expressions, had both charmed and intrigued her.

Teyla just hoped that satisfying her curiosity wouldn't hurt and offend him, because to do so again – well, it would upset her too now, just as deeply, to see him go through such unjust, undeserved pain.

"You do not… speak quite like the others here…" she ventured, watching his eyes for his reaction – gladly returning his smile when, instead of betraying the hurt she'd dreaded, they shone with laughter.

"Ah, so you'd noticed that…?" Carson chuckled, still laughing while he gently examined her wrist. "Aye, lass, you'll find a lot of that here… all kinds of strange voices and accents to get used to…"

"Major Sheppard told me that his comes from a great land called… America…" Teyla cautiously continued – encouraged by more of that charming laughter to share it with him as she watched him work. "And I have noticed that his accent is the same as that of Dr Weir, and Lieutenant Ford, but yours…"

"…is just a wee bit different… and a bit hard tae understand… aye, lass, I know…" Carson chuckled, winking at her, in playful mischief, as he went on to explain what was clearly an ongoing problem. "I'll have to start writing things down instead of saying them, just so people can understand me…"

"That would be a great shame, Dr Beckett, since your accent is so charming…" Teyla pointed out – the perfect seriousness of her reply contrasting, just as charmingly, with further chuckles of laughter.

"You're a friend to Scotsmen everywhere, lass… whichever galaxy they're in…" Carson grinned – prompted by another puzzled, quizzical frown to explain himself as he finished bandaging her wrist. "I come from a lovely place called Scotland, lass… I'm still from Earth, like the others here, but…"

"…your land is sufficiently distant from theirs to have its own language…?" Teyla finished for him – confident enough in his presence now to smile back at him, to enjoy the open pride in his eyes.

"Aye, lass, very much so… very much so…" Carson agreed, adding another slyly winked afterthought. "And I'd hate ye to think I'm biased or anything, but _I_ think it's the loveliest language on Earth…"

"I cannot see any reason to hate you for pride in your country, Dr Beckett…" Teyla replied softly – taking advantage of his startled delight at her words to build another cautious bridge of friendship. "In fact, I cannot see any reason to hate you at all… not when you have shown me such kindness…"

They'd been words she'd sensed he'd needed to hear, to re-settle him after the pained hurt of before – his reaction to them all she'd hoped it would be as that friendly smile chased its remnants away.

"Ye know, lass…? That's the kindest thing I've heard about me for a long time…" he said at last – making a show of looking around them, before leaning in to add a playful, conspiratory whisper. "Now, if we're to be the good friends I _hope_ we can be, could ye do me one more wee favour…? If I can call ye Teyla, do ye think you can call me Carson…?"

Such a simple request, yet it now forged a bond between them that would last through their lifetimes. As Teyla nodded, in very happy agreement to it, her eyes met his once more, in silent understanding. And in that moment, between two lost and lonely souls, a very special friendship was born.

She hadn't expected to need his expertise again so soon, or for such deeply personal reasons as these. Then again, Teyla sadly reflected, the Wraith's revenge against them had caught them all by surprise.

Within days of a victory that she'd known had been _far_ too easy, the inevitable reprisals had come – the camp on the mainland where many of the Athosians had re-settled hit with sudden, brutal speed.

Nor had Teyla expected to see the raw fear in his eyes as they'd joined John Sheppard's rescue team.

For reasons that clearly still haunted him, Carson Beckett did _not_ enjoy travel to unknown territory – especially when that territory had been left razed to the ground by wave upon wave of Hive ships.

As Chief Medical Officer, he'd been the first, automatic choice to lead the medical rescue teams – the speed with which he'd organised and assembled them speaking volumes for his skills as a leader.

His skills as a fighter, though…? Well, it had soon become obvious that was another matter entirely. The thought of what faced him, the pistol strapped so ominously against his leg, clearly unnerved him. Ever since they'd left Atlantis, he'd sat staring at it, his face betraying every part of his restless unease.

Such fear didn't entirely surprise her. He was a doctor, after all, not trained to fight in combat.

Had he, though…? Had there been some time, back on his world, where he'd had to stand and fight…? Had someone he'd cared about, loved as much as she loved Charin, been brutally taken from him…?

Teyla just wished she knew its true cause, if only to offer him the comfort that he so clearly needed. Instead, finally gaining his still strained, distracted attention, she offered him a reassuring smile – one returned just as gently, offering her the same mutual comfort as Carson shyly squeezed her hand.

"I'm sure Charin made it to safety, lass, before… well, before the worst of it hit…" he said at last – this concern for her fears and anxieties above those of his own causing her to stare at him in surprise.

Gifted with the ability to sense the Wraith, she wasn't used to having her own thoughts read so easily. Being so openly cared about by someone she'd only just met was another startling discovery.

But then again, as Teyla was rapidly discovering, this quiet, gentle new friend was just full of surprises. In contrast to his unease as they'd left, the closer they got to the mainland, the more settled he became. By the time they touched down, the blue eyes had cleared again, becoming set with determination – his voice regaining its strength as Carson prepared his teams, as best he could, for what was to come.

"Right then, people, now I know this is going to be a first for most of you, but we're well protected… and Major Sheppard's teams will take good care of us, so let's do _our_ jobs just as professionally. Just stay together, close to the Major here, and… well, remember, this is what we're all here for… there's people here that need us, so let's do all we can to help them... okay...?"

They'd been short and sweet, but Teyla doubted whether she could have said those words any better – John Sheppard's proud smile suggesting he felt the same way as he glanced at Carson and grinned.

"Nice job, doc…" he said at last, echoing Teyla's admiration for their CMO's skills in leadership. "Just what they needed to hear, so I'm guessing you've… um… done this before, back at the SGC…?"

He'd meant every word, sharing Teyla's need to settle the nerves only they'd been allowed to notice – so the raw pain which now filled Carson Beckett's eyes came as quite a shock to both of them.

The soft, strained voice which followed only did nothing to ease their dismay, or their concern.

"Aye, lad… aye, you could say that…"

Torn now on whether to apologise or let things lie, that decision then left John Sheppard's hands.

"Major…! Doc…! Over here… we've – we've got survivors…!"

In strangely perverse irony, Aiden Ford's urgent shout was just what Carson Beckett needed to hear – forcing him to snap out of the horrors of the past and back into the precious hopes of the present.

Following him, at an equally urgent run, John and Teyla traded another glance of silent understanding. When the time was right, for all concerned, they'd find out what had caused that haunted expression.

For now, though… well, Carson Beckett needed help of a wholly different yet just as vital kind. And if the scenes which now met their eyes were anything to go by, he was going to need plenty of it.

Two whispered, horror-stricken words summed it up, for all of them, with perfect, heartfelt clarity.

"Holy crap…!"

She'd been able to sense his presence for some time now, drawing strength from its promise of hope. Charin had to admit, though, that the latest protector gifted to them by their sacred Ancestors – well, for several reasons, his appearance especially, he wasn't _quite_ what she'd expected.

But as she'd learned throughout her life, through both joy and pain, appearances could be deceptive. And she knew that this quiet, shy stranger possessed a strength, a precious gift, of unimaginable power.

Watching him briskly organise the evacuation of his patients, Charin then glanced back at Teyla – her stern expression betrayed by the grandmotherly approval in her eyes.

"I am surprised at you, Teyla..." she said at last, shaking her head inteasing chastisement. "You neglected to tell me that your Dr Beckett was quite so young, or that he was quite so charming. And you _certainly_ neglected to tell me that he was quite so handsome…!"

Silently grateful that he'd been too far away to be embarrassed by such praise, Teyla just nodded – the pensive seriousness beyond her smile causing Charin's to follow in more appropriate suit.

"Yet you are troubled, child…? There is something about him that worries you…?"

Grateful, as always, for Charin's foresightedness, Teyla's smile grew slightly easier.

"I do not doubt Carson's honour, Charin, or his commitment to help protect us…" she said at last – niggling concerns over what she'd seen earlier that morning causing her to sigh and shake her head.

"But there is a deep scar of pain on Carson's heart that I know still haunts and torments him, and… I just cannot help but wonder, Charin, _why_ he has come here, to a world of such danger, when… well, when there is so much within it, the life he now shares with us, that fills him with fear…"

Having also sensed that silent, still unshared torment, Charin then smiled, gently patting Teyla's hand.

"When he is ready, Teyla, he will share with you, and the rest of his friends, the cause of his pain. As for his fears… yes, it would be easy to see such open displays of them as signs of weakness. But do you remember what your father taught you, about the existence of true strength and courage…? They are like the air that we breathe. You do not need to be able to see them to know they are there…"

Smiling at Teyla's nod of agreement, Charin then nodded towards the subject of their thoughts.

"Carson _has_ that courage, Teyla, and that strength. He just does not recognise them yet. But he will. When he needs to draw upon his strengths, his very special gift, they will all be there to serve him. He will also need your protection, Teyla, both then _and_ now. Do all you must to keep him safe…"

Pausing for a moment, Charin then favoured her surrogate grand-daughter with a wisely proud smile.

"Your instincts have always guided you well, Teyla, and they have certainly served you well now. In these new allies against the Wraith, and in Carson especially, you have made truly valuable friends. And yes, he is special too. _Very_ special. The Ancestors have chosen him to carry their greatest gift. He is one of the sacred Chosen, and you must do all you can, all that is necessary, to protect him…"

Smiling too now, Teyla nodded once more, her eyes still trained on her people's newest protector. She'd trusted Charin's wisdom, her ability to foresee the future, for as long as she could remember.

She'd trusted Carson Beckett too, just as she'd done John Sheppard, from the moment they'd met.

Even in the few days that she'd known him, she already knew she could trust him with her life, but… what about the lives of her people, whose fate and survival weighed so heavily upon her shoulders…? Could the key to their survival _really_ rest in the hands of one so gentle, so shy of facing danger…?

Doubts continued to niggle against those instincts, right to the moment when Carson re-joined them – their foundations again breached, left further weakened, simply by the warmth of his smile.

It was the calm determination in his eyes, however, which dealt those doubts a final, killer blow – a silent promise of hope, within them, which brought out the full, doubt free beauty of Teyla's smile.

'_I_'_ll_ keep _you safe_, _lass_… _I_'_ll_ _keep **all** of you safe_… _you just need to trust me_…'

Charin was smiling too, as she watched this silent pledge being forged between two fate-bonded souls. The bringers of hope gifted to them by their Ancestors, she knew, came in many guises, many forms. And this latest gift…? This quiet, gentle healer, brought to them from an impossibly distant land...? Well maybe, just _maybe_, Dr Carson Beckett would prove to be the most precious gift to them yet.


	3. Chapter 3 Doctoring The Doctor

By Its Cover

By Ann3

I must admit that writing McKay's 'first impression' hasn't been easy. After all, he's not one to admit when he's wrong ! But the friendship between him and Carson is so strong, so pivotal, that I couldn't help wondering – what if our favourite 'people person' Canadian didn't think such a friendship could ever exist…?

Set initially at the SGC, several years before Rising, the story then moves on to just after Poisoning The Well – so expect just a wee bit of whumpage and suffering for our favourite doctor… and no, I don't mean McKay… ;o)

I've added an extra scene to the ending, simply because I wasn't entirely happy with it, and thought it needed just a little more work. Please let me know what you think !

Chapter Three – Doctoring The Doctor

It was the sneery insult which never failed to infuriate him – never failed to get his Scottish up.

"Are you _sure_ you're a doctor…? A _real_ doctor, not some quack with a degree off the Internet…?"

Drawing on already well-worn patience, Carson Beckett, MD, PhD, dredged up a politely tight smile.

"_Yes_, Dr McKay, I _am_ a real doctor… I'm as much a _real_ doctor, with two _real_ degrees, as _you_ are…"

He'd been about as subtle with the sarcasm as a herd of highland cattle rampaging through Glencoe. Where this pain in the backside Canadian was concerned, though, he'd pitched it just about right. Interesting. _Definitely_ worth noting for the future.

"_Two_…?" McKay's eyes widened, in curious interest, as he studied the SGC's latest arrival. "Elizabeth, she… I – I mean, Dr Weir, she… um… she didn't mention that…"

"Did she not…?" Carson blinked at him, all modest innocence, before shrugging his shoulders. "Aye, well… _my_ way of thinking is one degree is _quite_ enough to be proud about…"

A frowning, curiosity-consumed scowl suggested that Rodney McKay, PhD x 2, didn't agree. Yet Carson resisted the urge to grant him the argument he could sense the Canadian wanted. Besides, he now gleefully noted, keeping him in curious tenterhooks was just as much fun. And was he imagining it, or had Rodney McKay's blood pressure just risen another notch…?

Idly whistling as he continued Rodney's exam, Carson set his own mischievously silent, mission control countdown. He'd barely made it from T minus twenty to T minus eighteen before the clock ground to a halt.

"_Well_…? What is it…?"

"What's _what_, lad…?" Carson asked, putting those innocent, baby blue eyes to devilishly excellent use. _BP_ _up again_… he noted in more or less genuine concern. _Easy_, _lad_, _or_ _ye_'_ll_ _be needin_'_ knockout drops_

At T minus seventeen, Rodney McKay's frustrated curiosity finally overtook all scientific dignity.

"Your other degree, of course…!" he spluttered, practically jumping off the couch he was sitting on – and almost flying clear into orbit when Carson merely smiled that shy, gentle, charismatic smile.

"Och, is that all, son…? Why didn't ye just say so…?" he asked at last, all bright eyed innocence – moving swiftly on to answer Rodney's question before the cuff on his arm went Frisbee-ing across the room. "Well, it's just a wee bit of… um… personal interest, let's say… I'm a xenogeneticist…"

The response he usually received at this point was a blank look and a politely prompting 'Huh…?' But from Rodney McKay, to his startled surprise, it earned him a far more meaningful accolade.

"_Really_…? You – You mean, all to do with Ancient genetics, all their technology, and – and stuff…?"

Masking the tragedy of why he'd taken such a rare medical specialty, Carson just nodded and smiled.

"Aye, lad…" he said at last, making another mental note as Rodney continued to stare back at him.

Until a few moments ago, he'd been the shyly nervous, painfully homesick new kid on the SGC block Now he'd met someone else who, he'd already sensed, felt as lonely, was as much an outsider on this base, as he was.

Blue eyes met blue, the friendly warmth in one pair gently thawing the frosty coolness in the other. And in that moment, Carson Beckett _thought_ he'd found his first friend in this daunting new home.

Beyond his smile, though, the coolly appraising eyes of Rodney McKay saw something else entirely. This gullibly friendly doctor, he now gleefully noted, might just be the answer to all his scientific prayers.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

By uncanny, thoroughly appropriate coincidence, it was raining as Carson opened the access hatch – the clouds above him the same leaden, depressing grey as they'd been back home, all those years ago.

Heavy drops of rain were already washing away his tears as he settled himself onto the sodden grass. His fatigue suit offered him some protection, of course, but… well, if truth be told, he barely noticed.

Wrapping his arms around his knees, Carson bowed his head, breathing deeply, and closed his eyes.

He'd known it would be bad, this first anniversary of his father's death, so far away from home, but – well, he'd just never thought it would be so hard, so _bloody_ hard, so painfully difficult for him, as this.

Until now, wherever possible, he'd always spent this saddest of days as close to home as he could get. Even when he'd gone to university, medical school, then on into his residency, he'd been in Scotland. At least there he'd still been… well, _connected_, for want of a better word, to his father's presence, his spirit.

Now, thousands of miles away, in surroundings still so alien to him, he'd never felt so bloody alone.

For the first time since he'd arrived at the SGC, Carson Beckett heartily wished he'd never come to Denver. He'd had no choice, though. As fresh fear and anger ripped at his heart, Carson knew he had no choice.

His life didn't just lie here now, he reflected bitterly, glaring up into still unforgivingly rainy skies. Its very continuance, the lives of so many others, depended on the SGC's truly incredible resources.

So he was stuck here, chronic homesickness and all, whether he liked it or not. Bloody marvellous.

He'd thought the traditional call home to his mother would help to ease its crushing weight upon him. What a stupid idea _that_ had been. He'd barely managed to get through it without bursting into tears.

So he'd come up here afterwards, out into the open ground above the base, safely away from prying eyes. Up as high as he could get, out into the fresh air he'd always loved so much, to grieve and remember and reflect in privacy, and…

"Carson…? Cars-… hey, are you _nuts_…? What are you doing up here, sitting out in all this rain…?"

Mentally noting that his pulse had just hit the three figure mark, Carson spun around to face its cause – a spluttering yelp of protest swept relentlessly aside as Rodney McKay hauled him back to his feet.

"Rodney…? What – What the bloody hell are _you_ doing here…?"

"I could ask you the same thing…" McKay retorted, peering curiously at the stricken face beside him. "I mean, I know you weird and wacky Scots love the rain, and all, and… hey, are you _crying_…?"

Thoroughly mortified, Carson jerked his arm out of Rodney's grip, trying desperately to stride away – his frantic attempts to do so only succeeding in those unyieldingly firm fingers grabbing his arm again.

"Hey, you _are_, aren't you…?" McKay continued, totally unmoved by a muffled, helpless sob of denial. A sneer that silently shattered Carson's dreams then furthered his torment as McKay snorted in disgust.

"Jeez, Carson, what are you… like, _twelve_…? I mean, jeez… here you are, a _full_-grown thirty year old, and you _still_ blub 'cos you're _homesick_…?"

Staring back at him in pure, scandalized betrayal, Carson struggled, in painful vain, to find his voice. When he finally did so, it sounded suspiciously like that petulant child he'd just been accused of being

"_Yes_…! _Yes_, Rodney…!" he finally yelled, blue eyes flashing fire through a haze of freefalling tears. "Yes, I'm _crying_, because I'm lonely, and homesick, and – and it's my da's anniversary, and – and…"

Too distraught to go on, Carson then fell back onto the grass, crying as though his heart was breaking.

Taken genuinely aback by the fury of his outburst, McKay honestly didn't know what to say next.

From the moment he'd found out that this gloriously compliable doctor had it, the sacred gene of _all_ genes – well, he'd tagged along at Carson Beckett's heels as if joined there by an invisible puppy-leash.

He'd protested, of course, tried so hard to resist being turned into McKay's own personal labrat, but – well, something Rodney hadn't been able to understand had always made Carson Beckett back down.

He was beginning to understand it now, though, as he watched a betrayed heart shatter in front of him. All this shy, lonely doctor had wanted was his friendship. He'd been willing to do whatever it took, however much he hated it, to keep it.

And he'd just had all his trust, all his unquestioning faith in human nature, thrown brutally back at him.

Damn.

Rodney McKay sadly realized something else too now, as needles of guilt continued to prick at his conscience. He'd have to start again, find another gullible, unassuming sap to act as his Ancient gene guinea pig – because in the dangerous, often deadly world of the Stargate program, Dr Carson Beckett wouldn't last five minutes.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

March 7th. A date that had been discreetly circled on Rodney McKay's calendar for the last five years.

His best friend's anniversary. No, he irritably corrected himself, his best friend's _father_'s anniversary. The day he'd cynically decided that Dr Carson Beckett couldn't survive, didn't belong, in the SGC.

How wrong he'd been. How consistently, so gently unjudgmentally, he'd been proven wrong. How sickeningly ironic that, exactly five years later, he was on the verge of being finally proved right.

Devastated by his experiences on Hoff, Carson Beckett had fallen emotionally, and physically, apart. The tearful bombshell he'd dropped three days ago, at the end of a grimly subdued staff meeting, was still unthinkable enough to make McKay wince.

'_I_ – _I may as well tell ye all now_, _while_ – _while you_'_re all here_… _I_'_m_ – _I_'_m_ _resigning_ _as_ CMO… _I - I just canna be a doctor any more_...'

A mood that was already strained and subdued had changed, in a heartbeat, into complete disbelief. Everyone who'd heard that bombshell had tried, calmly at first, then frantically, to talk him out of it.

Elizabeth and John Sheppard had led the first wave, his own shellshocked senior staff the second. Teyla had tried too, in her own gently spiritual way, to make her kindred soul-mate see sense.

Consumed by grief, overwhelmed by his shattered conscience, Carson Beckett had refused to listen.

So now it all rested with him, Mr Sensitivity, to somehow succeed where everyone else had failed.

Except Rodney McKay, that same Mr Sensitivity, had one distinct advantage that no-one else had. He knew Carson Beckett more closely, more intimately, more privately, than anyone else on Atlantis.

And, more to the point, as the rest of the city searched for their missing, deeply troubled CMO, _he_ knew where Carson would be.

An eerie sense of déjà vu crept over him as Rodney climbed out onto the central spire's balcony. Leaden skies. The sound of crying. And a lone figure huddled against the freezing rain. Wonderful.

Gratefully noting that his friend wasn't wearing his own, Rodney then thumbed his headset.

"Elizabeth…? Major…? I've found him… yes, he's – he's okay, where I thought he'd be... no, I don't need any help, just some... um... privacy... I'm gonna try and talk him inside…"

Swallowing down his fear of the spire's dizzying height, he padded carefully across to its railing – his eyes never leaving, not daring to leave, the rain-sodden figure who sat curled in a ball against it

He knew Carson would never be reckless enough to something so stupid, so unthinkable, however depressed he was, but – well, it was still there, nagging away at the back of Rodney's mind, as he sadly studied his friend. If he _did_ jump, leaving the agony of living behind him… well, there'd be very few pieces to pick up.

And startling him, McKay wryly reflected, as he'd done back in Denver, would _not_ be a good idea. Instead, pitching his voice to just above a whisper, he crouched down at his shivering friend's side.

"Carson…?" Not surprised in the slightest at the lack of response, he tried again, risking a tentative pat on his arm. "Carson…? Carson…?"

Seconds that felt more like hours passed. Then, at last, the dark, rain-swept head finally lifted, turned – the blue eyes that stared so blankly back at him chilling McKay every bit as much as the freezing rain.

Their friendly warmth, the lively mischief that was so much a part of him, just wasn't there any more. Instead pure exhaustion clouded them, casting a worrying veil over the broken, devastated soul beyond

Even when they blinked, in dazed recognition, they still weren't the eyes that Rodney knew so well – the faint, confused whisper that finally answered him not the voice of his brilliant, one-of-a-kind friend

"R – R'dney…?"

Blinking once more, Carson then stared down at his sodden, shivering body in heartbreaking alarm. "R'dney, _wha_'…? Wha' am I doin' out here…?"

Great. A depressed friend sitting on Atlantis' highest balcony – and he didn't know how he'd got there

Praying to every god he knew that he looked less scared than he felt, McKay pasted on a cheery smile.

"Guess you just wanted some fresh air…" he said at last, taking a cautious grip on Carson's sleeve – silently thanking those same gods when his arm was allowed to travel, unresisted, around alarmingly quaking shoulders. "But I kinda think you've had enough fresh air for today… what say we go inside now… okay…?"

Too frightened and confused to argue, Carson just nodded, allowing himself to be gently steered inside.

Beside him, Rodney McKay breathed a sigh of pure relief, his free hand sliding into his pants pocket. Yes, it was still there. A tiny vial of liquid salvation. Rodney just hoped it would be enough.

The main corridors which led from the main spire to their living quarters were thankfully quiet. For that, Rodney McKay was truly grateful as he guided a silent, soaking, shuffling figure along them. The last thing that a confused, disoriented Carson Beckett needed right now was a curious audience.

His plan of action was in place long before they reached the blessed sanctuary of Carson's quarters. Even beneath two jackets and a thick bath-towel, the shoulders beneath his hand were still shaking.

First port of call would be his friend's shower room, layer upon layer of warm dry clothes - followed by a _very_ carefully prepared mug of tea. Judging by the dazed, increasingly worrying ramblings beside him, that last part of the plan couldn't come soon enough.

"C – C'ld… 'm – 'm cold, R'dney… so – so c'ld… wh – why 'm I so cold…?"

It was the exhaustion talking. Rodney knew that. The toll of too little sleep, too much humanity, and _way_ too much guilt. But that didn't help him feel better. Didn't stop the dismayed sympathy from choking his own voice.

"Because you got caught in the rain, Carson…" he soothed, gently nudging his friend onto the couch. "But it's okay, you're home and dry now…" he continued, tugging off two thoroughly sodden boots. "Long hot shower, some warm dry clothes, and you'll be feeling better again in no time… okay…?"

More than anything else, he wanted to see those eyes twinkle at him with their familiar amusement. Hear that soft Scottish brogue peevishly demand why, exactly, Rodney was stripping off his clothes.

But no. The normally bright blue eyes remained glassy and blank, the hoarse voice barely coherent.

"Sh'wer… w'rm… w'nt to – to be w'rm 'gain… 'kay…"

The reviving benefits of a long, steamingly hot shower proved, inevitably, to have its drawbacks too. Yes, it finally brought some precious, healthier warmth back to a dangerously chilled, soaking body. Layer upon layer of all the insulating clothes Rodney could find had ensured that warmth stayed put.

But it brought memories back too. Memories that Carson Beckett just wasn't strong enough to handle. And their impact now hit him with all the brutal, devastating impact of a Wraith stunner on full blast. If not for the fact that he was now sitting on the edge of his bed, he'd have probably passed out from sheer emotional shock.

"Oh – Oh God… Perna…Per-... oh, Christ, what - what have I done...?" he whispered, what little strength he'd regained now cruelly deserting him.

A muffled sob escaped him, then another. Another. Then Carson Beckett fell completely apart.

He'd expected it, of course. But the sight of his best friend breaking down in floods of tears still tore at McKay's heart

"Yes, Carson, I know… I know…" he said at last, comforting that distraught friend as best he could – holding him close, trying to calm him while glancing back at the two mugs on the table alongside them.

Undetectable oblivion laced one of them. And by God, was Carson Beckett ever going to need it.

Not yet, though. However badly he needed it, Carson was in no fit state to safely drink it down yet.

Even when the torrent of tears finally stopped, the exhaustion it left behind still prolonged his torment. The violent tremors which had afflicted him before now returned, ten times worse, to his hands – making the most vital part of Rodney's plan all the more difficult as he pressed that precious mug into them. If not for an extra hand rapidly intervening to hold it steady for him, he'd have spilled the entire lot.

"Come on, Carson, you need to drink this down now… that's it, attaboy… all the way down now…"

He fidgeted and fretted, feebly fighting him at times, but at last Carson's mug sat preciously empty in his hands – its contents already working their magic as a gently drugged, mercifully doctored doctor began to sleepily keel onto his side.

And to Rodney's astonishment, a Mickey Finned mug of tea now coaxed out just the trace of a smile.

"'nniv'rsary… fi – f've years…" Carson mumbled, squinting up at him out of now barely open eyes. "Hey, R'dney…? I – I bet ye n'ver thou'ht tha' I'd st'll be… h're th's long…"

"Never doubted you for a second…" Rodney sniffed, praying his friend was too sleepy to doubt him – a mumbled rebuke from within a snug huddle of bedclothes defying him in the gentlest, most poignant of cruelties.

"L – Liar…"

Swallowing hard as he watched his friend drift into blissful oblivion, Rodney then bowed his head – idly wondering if some stray shower water still lurking in his hair had started to trickle down his face. Why else would there be this sudden, inexplicable dampness moistening his cheek…?

They arrived within minutes of his hailing call, setting a new record for travelling across the city – mirrored anxiety on their faces melting into pure relief as Rodney ushered them, very quietly, inside.

"It's okay, that… um… sedative Dr Buchanan gave me worked like a charm…" he reported softly – turning from his doorman duties to nod to the bed behind him, to the sleeping figure curled up within. "Yes, it… um… it worked real fast, he… um… crashed out almost straight away…"

Nodding in grateful understanding, Elizabeth then squeezed his arm, her smile warm with admiration.

"Good job, Rodney, I… well, I knew if anyone could find Carson and bring him back, you could…"

"Yeah, how _did_ you know where he was…?" John Sheppard asked, his voice just as reverently soft – guessing from Rodney's still subdued, strained expression that his reply would not be a happy one.

Haunted blue eyes flinched for a moment, then cleared with the anticipation of releasing their burden.

"It's… um… Carson's anniversary today… or – or rather, it's his dad's…" Rodney finally explained, leading the way back to Carson's bedside, re-taking the place he'd already claimed at his shoulder.

Pausing for a moment, collecting his thoughts as he absently adjusted the bedclothes, he then very softly, still tellingly softly, continued.

"I – I found out five years ago, when – when Carson first started to work with me at the SGC, and… well, when – when he's got a lot on his mind, he likes to get out in the open, as high up as he can go, he… well, he – he just believes he's just that little closer to his dad that way…"

"Yes, that sounds like our Carson…" Elizabeth agreed quietly, settling herself on a spare edge of bed – studying her sleeping CMO with a smile of bittersweet pride as she gently straightened still shower-damp hair.

Reminded of the tragedy hidden beneath his peaceful expression, she then sighed, shaking her head.

"Damn it, he – he didn't deserve what happened on that planet… shouldn't be going through this…"

"Yeah, Elizabeth, I know… I know..." John replied softly, his voice softened by his own stricken conscience – common sense and practicality, the hopeful prospect of moving forward, helping, just a little, to ease its load. "But we can't change what happened to him back there… all we can do is bring him through it…"

"And we will… we _will_ bring him though this…" Elizabeth agreed with the same soft determination – leaning forward to make that same promise to a troubled friend who now lay so far away from her. "I - I know you can't hear me, Carson, but you _will_ be alright… we _will_ bring you through this…"

He was lost to her, she knew. Thankfully shielded from the horrors of reality in a sanctuary of peaceful dreams. And maybe it was a trick of the light, distorting her vision through tears of sympathy and relief, but – well, wasn't the smile on that pale, peaceful face just a little bit easier, just a little bit happier, now…?

Rodney McKay's expression, on the hand, was still far too strained for John Sheppard's liking. Knowing better than to question its cause directly, though, he gently skirted around it instead.

"You did a great job out there, Rodney… like Elizabeth said, if anyone was going to find him…"

"…it was going to be me, his _best_ friend…" Rodney finished for him, still watching Carson sleep – the self mocking bitterness in his next words causing John and Elizabeth to exchange startled glances. "I wasn't much of a friend to him five years ago, when I derided him for crying over his father… God knows, I've not been much of a friend to him since..."

Realising this was why he still looked so subdued, John rested a gentle, brotherly hand on his shoulder

"Well, no, I guess you weren't _then_…" he said at last, giving that shoulder a firmly rallying squeeze – keeping up the pressure until Rodney looked at him, so that he could see the support in his eyes. "But you're one hell of a friend to him _now_, Rodney… you're the best and closest friend he has here…"

Waiting until an appreciative smile rewarded him, John then grinned, nodding back towards the bed.

"He came though it _then_, Rodney… he survived it five years ago… he'll come through it _now_… we'll make sure of that..."

The smile came easier this time as Rodney nodded once more, proudly watching his sleeping friend.

He'd survived all right. He'd defied all the odds, blithely defied even the most arrogant of cynics. Carson Beckett _had_ survived those five minutes at the SGC, and the equivalent years that had followed. With his close knit circle of friends around him, his surrogate family, he'd breeze through the next five

In fact, Rodney now dryly noted, with that famous pig-headedness, that indomitable courage...? Oh, yes, he'd easily survive the next fifty.


	4. Chapter 4 Storm Trouper

By Its Cover

By Ann3

Writer's Note: I've gone slightly away from my 'first meeting' impressions theme for Ford's story, because his attitude towards Carson in The Storm and, especially, The Eye, has always bugged me. All that throwing his weight around, and yet no apology or fence building with Carson at the end…?

So this is an alternative ending for The Eye. Hopefully it will resolve a few forgotten issues.

Reference also made to Poisoning The Well and, very sketchily, to the SG1 episode Heroes.

Chapter Four – Storm Trouper

They'd survived. Just. Thanks to Rodney McKay's self-cited brilliance, they'd survived the impossible.

Relief now swept through them as powerfully as the massive wave which rolled and raged outside. Right until the jarring thud of a falling deadweight body hitting the floor rang out from behind them. Then fresh hell of a wholly different kind broke loose.

The first to recognise its cause, Elizabeth Weir rushed back to kneel at that fallen body's crumpled side – noting, in rising alarm, that her Chief Medical Officer was now in urgent need of a doctor himself.

His face unhealthily pale, blood now staining his temple too, from where he'd fallen, as well as his face, Carson Beckett lay totally out for the count – worryingly resistant to Elizabeth's gentle shakes on his shoulder, her anxious calls of his name.

"Carson…? Carson, can you hear me, it's Elizabeth… Carson, can you hear me…? _Carson_…!"

Kneeling beside her, John Sheppard then threw a furiously accusatory glare towards Sora – the friendliness of just moments before reversed, inevitably, by the consequences of her actions.

Teyla's stricken face, Sora's attempts to explain, weren't going to cut the ice with him at the moment. Instead he joined Elizabeth in trying, as best he could, to assess the severity of Carson's injuries.

"Carson…? Damn it, he's out cold…"

Silently wishing he'd taken more field medical training, he then glanced expectantly up at Ford.

"Lieutenant…? As of now, consider yourself promoted from field medic to stand-in CMO. Until the med teams get back, the doc's gonna need some help, and… well, you're it…"

Frowning at a scowl he had no time to question, John then turned his attentions to Rodney.

"Rodney…? How long before we can safely move him to the Infirmary…?"

Jerked out of his own anxious study of his injured friend, Rodney then recovered himself and shrugged

"Well, the electricity levels are already falling, so if we give it a few more minutes…"

"Okay, Rodney, you keep tabs on that… as soon as it's safe, I want to get Carson down there…" Realising there were several other casualties to consider, John then added a dryly rueful afterthought. "Just our luck… a roomful of casualties, and the only doctor on Atlantis is one of 'em…"

"I am well enough, Major… I have merely sustained some cuts and bruises…" Teyla replied softly – a silent nod from Sora taking the tally from a trickily awkward four to a rather more manageable two.

That still left McKay, of course, who was thankfully too engrossed in his task to make any comment.

So that left just the one, unnervingly silent figure who still lay propped against John Sheppard's knee.

He still wasn't moving, still wasn't responsive. And such unnatural, deathly pale stillness could only have one cause.

"He's got a concussion, for sure… a bad one too, by the looks of it…" John sighed, shaking his head. "We've gotta bring him round, and keep him awake once we do… keep him alert, keep him talking…"

Until now, Aiden Ford had watched this unfolding drama in stonily impassive, emotionless silence. After such a harrowing day, the young lieutenant's easy going humour had long since disappeared. The sarcastically flippant response to his CO's remark was out of his mouth before he could stop it.

"That last part shouldn't be too hard… I've spent most of today telling him to shut up…"

In the stunned silence that followed, a tellingly quiet, deceptively mild voice finally broke it.

"Yeah, so I'd gathered…" John Sheppard said at last, glancing up at his second in command. He'd sensed his simmering fury from the moment they'd given Kolya's guards the timeliest of drops.

Yet its apparent target…? No, that was just too ridiculous, too illogical, to contemplate. Carson Beckett, bless his sweet natured soul, was the last person in the world to deserve such anger.

Something had clearly happened, though, between two of the most easy going people on Atlantis. Something that had left Aiden Ford and Carson Beckett at emotionally frayed loggerheads.

As Carson remained thankfully oblivious to its aftermath, now seemed a good time to find out what – the very quietness of John's voice making his next words less of a question and more of an order.

"Care to tell me about it, Lieutenant…?"

Realising he'd just talked himself into one hell of a deep hole, Ford then squared his shoulders

"Permission to speak freely, sir…?"

At his CO's assenting nod, Ford took a deep breath – and got straight to the hopefully laudable point.

"We should have got to you sooner, sir… if he'd flown us back from the mainland when I told him…"

"…the chances are that _you'd _all be dead, and _we'd_ be down another Jumper…" John cut in softly – the steeliness in his next words effectively over-riding any protest that Ford might have been planning. "Not even the best pilots on the base, myself included, could have made it safely through that storm… and in case you'd forgotten, the doc here _isn_'_t_ a pilot, he's only taken the most basic flight training…"

Allowing that quiet reminder to sink in, John glanced briefly back to the silent figure beside him – making a point of meeting Ford's eyes again, keeping his next words gently, deliberately, casual.

"Far from damning him, Lieutenant, you should be thanking him that he got you back here safely… and thanking him even more that he had the common sense to stay put when he did…"

Apparently he'd been a little _too_ casual, since Ford still couldn't stop a recklessly indignant protest.

"But you were in trouble, sir…! I – I was needed back here, to cover your six, and instead…"

"What are you, Ford, my mother…?" Sheppard snapped back, his own temper getting the better of him. As the young lieutenant's face inevitably fell, John then sighed, his next words noticeably softer and gentler. "Look, one professional mother hen on this base is quite enough, let alone you trying out as deputy…"

Waiting for just a trace of a smile to re-appear, John allowed himself to relax enough to do the same – using just the right amount of firmness in his voice to bring his rebellious kid brother back into line.

"The simple fact is, Ford, that Carson knew I could handle things until you could _safely_ get back to me. He knew what had to be done, Lieutenant. That's something you just _might_ want to learn from him…"

The message had seemingly got through this time, since Ford was already nodding his agreement – his quiet, humbled reply lifting much of the tension which had hung so oppressively over them.

"Yes, sir…"

McKay's voice a few moments later, equally quiet, brought some more, anxiously awaited good news.

"Okay, the halls are clear, Major, we can… um… we can get Carson out of here…"

Already nodding in grateful agreement, John then jerked his head towards Carson's sneakers.

"Okay, Ford, I've got this end, you take his feet… real easy with him now, let's get him downstairs…"

Not trusting himself to speak, Ford just nodded while taking a firm grip around Carson's ankles – silently grateful that his CO couldn't see his face as they carried Carson down to the Infirmary.

Then again, John Sheppard didn't need to see the young lieutenant's face to sense its expression. The kid was still clearly upset and unsettled, still smarting over that regrettably public reprimand. And, with any luck, John quietly hoped, he'd be mulling that reprimand over _very_ carefully.

Sora had clearly been doing a little soul-searching too, facing the consequences of her actions – her genuine contrition earning her a collective round of surprised, encouragingly appreciative stares.

"I – I did not mean to injure him so severely…" she said at last, tentatively re-meeting John's eyes. "I simply wanted to prevent him from stopping my vengeance against Teyla…"

Still warily angry, though maybe not quite so much as before, John Sheppard merely nodded in reply. If truth be told, his main concern still rested with Carson's still unnervingly silent, deadweight form.

In spite of this less than gentle movement of him, he'd not flinched, not even groaned, in protest. Even with his limited medical knowledge, John knew such unprotesting silence was _not_ a good sign. So Rodney McKay's typically self-centred whining really wasn't going to be appreciated.

"But – But he's gonna be okay, right…? He'll be okay…? I – I mean, who's gonna fix my arm…?"

"Even if he were to come round right now, McKay, I doubt he'd feel up to facing _you_ as a patient…!"

Realizing he'd spoken more sharply than intended, John's temper fell as rapidly as it had risen – and vanished completely when he saw the genuine pain on Rodney's face, the deep red stain on his sleeve.

"Look, Rodney, I'm sorry, but… well, I kinda think the doc's really in some trouble here, and…"

"Yeah, I'm – I'm getting that…" Rodney replied softly, his eyes guiltily sliding back to his friend – the hand he now protectively rested on Carson's shoulder speaking volumes for just how worried he really was.

"I believe there is a medical device of the Ancestors which Dr Beckett uses…" Teyla chipped in – not even waiting for John's nod as they entered the main Infirmary to hurry into Carson's office.

"Okay, Ford, still real easy with him… let's get him up on this bunk here…" John continued – keeping Carson upright to remove his jacket before easing him carefully against the bed's back-rest.

Rewarded by a soft groan, a fretful wriggle of protest, John allowed himself a trace of a smile.

"Attaboy, doc… come on, Carson, you gotta wake up for us now, you hear me…?" he urged gently – as startled as everyone else when Carson wriggled more fretfully, then started to thrash against John's arms, struggling to roll onto his side.

Realising why, just in time, John then backed away, motioning for the others to do the same – fighting to keep control over his own churning stomach as Carson's messily emptied onto the floor

Pointedly ignoring Rodney's yelp of indignation, John then resolutely returned to Carson's side – supporting him as best he could until, finally, the tide of revolting ickiness came to a merciful end.

Still coughing and spluttering, trembling with effort, Carson then slumped back against the pillows – struggling to focus oddly uncooperative eyes on the line of anxious faces that swam in front of them.

Elizabeth's. Rodney's. John's. Teyla's. All sharing the same expression of concerned sympathy.

It was the face at the end, though, which caused an already faltering smile to disappear completely – the near deer-eyed panic which its presence invoked not lost on the all-seeing eyes of John Sheppard

As one almighty storm now passed, another was still clearly affecting two pivotal members of his team. And the best way for them to ride that storm out was behind the private sanctuary of closed doors.

John knew he'd pay for this at his next physical, but… well, sometimes you had to be cruel to be kind

"Hey, doc, good to have you back…" he grinned, making a point of making his tone breezily cheerful. "I'm guessing you're gonna be laid up in here for a while yet, though, so until your teams get back… well, I'm sure Lieutenant Ford here will take _real_ good care of you… _right_, Lieutenant…?"

That, at least, gave the two combatants some common ground as both stared at him in utter shock.

"_Sir_…?"

"_Wha_'…? Ye – Ye mean…? 'h, _crap_…"

Recognising a call for a diplomatic exit when she saw it, Elizabeth was already nodding her agreement

"Yes, Major, we've a lot of loose ends to tie up…" she said at last, glancing pointedly towards Sora – breathing a quiet sigh of relief as both she and Teyla smiled back at her, thankfully taking the hint.

True to form, Rodney McKay was slightly slower on the diplomatic uptake than everyone else – granted just enough time to snatch a roll of bandage as John Sheppard steered him towards the door.

Pausing there, John glanced back to offer one last piece of cheerily encouraging, big-brotherly advice.

"Play nice, kids…" he grinned, offering each 'kid' a playful wink, before closing the doors behind him

Left alone behind tactfully locked doors, Carson stared nervously back at his scowling nursemaid. Confronted by such outright sulkiness, he then did the only sane, sensible thing he _could_ do.

Fighting a losing battle against a still violently rebellious stomach, he sat up, rolled onto his side – and promptly emptied it again, all over Aiden Ford's once immaculately polished boots.

He woke slowly, still painfully aware of the mother of all headaches pounding through his temples – quiet movement beside him finally coaxing Carson to slowly, _very_ gingerly, re-open his eyes.

The first sight that met them was a small basin resting on top of his chest, a cloth hung over its side.

Staring at it, with all the comprehension of a potted plant, Carson then winced as memory returned – his moan of dismay sufficiently loud enough to bring Aiden Ford's head up to a more visible level.

And if he'd been annoyed before… well, not surprisingly, he was thoroughly PO-ed with him now

"Thought you might need that…" Ford said at last, nodding pointedly towards the basin on his chest – his intention to return to mopping up the floor effectively ended by a pained, warningly faint whisper.

"'ye, lad, 'm – I'm s'rry…"

Messily ickified boots regardless, bearing grudges and spiteful malice wasn't in Aiden Ford's nature.

Beyond its pain and suffering, there was something else in that face, too, that silently shamed him. Injured and helpless, totally vulnerable, Carson Beckett was staring at him with near dread in his eyes. To have invoked such fear, it… well, it wasn't something that Aiden Ford could take much pride in.

"Hey, forget it, doc, you… well, you couldn't help it…" he said at last, shrugging his shoulders – hoping the smile he'd dredged onto his face would help settle both of their restless, unsettled nerves.

Evidently not, since Carson just nodded, screwing his eyes against a fresh assault of face-paling pain.

"Hey, easy, doc… easy, just ride it out now…" Ford soothed him, gently squeezing his shoulder – genuine alarm rising into his voice as he felt an unhealthy tremor within it spread down Carson's arm. "Hey, come on, doc, stay with me here… can – can I get you anything…?"

Dragging himself back to consciousness, albeit with worrying difficulty, Carson then shakily nodded.

"S'line… ne'd saline…" he finally whispered, turning his eyes towards a shelf on the opposite wall. "G – Going 'nto shock… n – need a line… IV… t' – to r'place fluids…"

Hardly the most lucid instruction he'd ever heard, but Aiden Ford had still caught its urgent gist – long-legged strides taking him across the room and back again before Carson had finished speaking.

Quietly dreading what he knew was coming next, he then offered Carson an awkward, nervous grin.

"Kinda have to admit, doc, I'm… well, I'm not too good with needles… especially big ones…"

That won him just the trace of a stronger, easier smile as Carson fumbled the IV kit into his lap.

"Don' w'rry, lad, I – I'll talk ye thro'gh it…" he whispered, nodding towards a nearby trolley. "F'rst thing, st'rile wipe acr'ss my h'nd…"

Dryly congratulating himself on being able to translate barely coherent Scottish, Ford nodded – staring in pure astonishment as the moment he'd silently dreaded was lifted from his shoulders.

Taking a deep, hand-steadying breath, Carson gritted his teeth before sliding the IV port into place – the soft curse which then escaped him needing very little in the way of cross-culture translation.

"Chr'st, that – th'at blo'dy hurt…!"

Yet even as his hand jerked fitfully in protest, Carson kept his bloodied fingers resolutely in place – the quiet, shaky urgency in his voice finally galvanising his stunned, gaping assistant into action.

"Rig't, lad, a bit o' gauze on the're, then op'n up the valve, an' – and we're re'dy for s'me meds…"

"_Meds_…?" Ford echoed, silently praying he wasn't about to need one of those sick basins too. He'd seen some nauseating things in his time, but what he'd just seen Carson Beckett do to himself…

Carson had somehow still managed to read his thoughts, since he now dredged up a ghost of a grin.

"Don' worry, son, w're done wi' the needles…" he chuckled, nodding towards yet another shelf. "Th'rd shelf down, you'll – you'll f'nd s'me smaller syr'nges… need one f'r Dramamine…"

Strongly tempted to nab some anti-nausea treatment for himself, Ford nodded and hurriedly obliged – watching in relieved fascination as, albeit still shakily, Carson emptied those precious meds into his IV.

Self-treatment complete, Carson then rested his head back into his pillows and sighed in pure, total relief. And when his eyes drifted closed once more, Aiden Ford made no attempt to rouse him to open them.

Instead he gave Carson's free hand just the gentlest of proudly admiring, encouraging squeezes – staring, in deeply humbled surprise, when clumsily fumbling fingers did the same in return.

The meds had thankfully kicked in now, for which Aiden Ford was truly, and deeply, grateful. Just ten minutes after IV 101, Carson's colour and alertness levels were both starting to improve – enough for him to quietly broach the subject which, if truth be told, Ford had already forgotten.

"I'm – I'm sorry, Aiden, for… well, for givin' ye such a hard time back there…" he said at last – blinking, in honest, deeply relieved surprise when Ford waved away his further attempts to apologise

"Hey, forget it, doc, we… well, I kinda think we _both_ lost our heads today…" he replied softly – pausing for a moment, thinking out his words, before resolutely meeting the wide blue eyes beside him. "Major Sheppard reminded me of something earlier, doc, that… well, that kinda got lost back there… he reminded me you're a doctor, not… well, not someone who's been trained to fight in combat..."

Turning away to re-fill his coffee, he didn't see the stricken wince which had crossed Carson's face. By the time he turned back again, the pain in his eyes, the memories behind it, were more or less gone

Assuming, from its remnants, that a little more fence-building was needed, Ford then winked at him.

"Mind you, the Major _also_ said he couldn't have flown or landed that Jumper better himself… even went so far as to reckon you could give him some lessons, once you're back on your feet…"

"He – He _did_…?" Carson stared back at him, relieved, flattered and horrified in equal measure. "Dear God, is – is he tha' bloody desperate…?"

He'd said it so seriously, in such wide eyed dismay, that Ford couldn't stop a whoop of laughter. Yet even as Carson cautiously allowed himself a shy grin in return, his eyes remained serious – awkwardness joining the clouds of exhaustion within them as he sighed, listlessly shaking his head.

"He's right, though, son, I – I can't fight, or – or face combat to save my life…" he finally whispered – something about the shakiness in his next words prompting Ford to become instantly serious too. "It's – It's all the killing, son… all – all the killin' and fightin'… I've just seen so much death here… I've – I've even caused some of it… and – an' that's just not what I'm about, Aiden, but… but here I am, still – still expected to – to use a gun, to kill if I have to, and… it just isn't _me_, son… I'm a _doctor_, Aiden, and – an' I – I just wish people could remember that sometimes…"

He was becoming more and more agitated now, close to tears, as Ford struggled to think out his reply

"Yeah, I'm getting to understand that now…" he said at last, giving Carson's arm a gentle squeeze. "And you're one hell of a doctor, too, Carson, you're one of the best… no, _the_ best, I've ever seen…"

As he'd hoped, and expected, this gently rallying reassurance was just what his CMO needed to hear.

"Aye, you're a good lad too, son…" Carson sighed, thankfully calmer now as he looked around him. "An' – And ev'ryone else is okay…? I – I thought I saw tha' R'dney was hurt too, an'… and Teyla…"

"Yeah, they were…" Ford admitted, quickly reassuring him as Carson's face instantly fell in alarm. "Don't worry, doc… Teyla's fine, and McKay… well, he's kinda been left to do his own voodoo…"

"He is...? God help us…" Carson muttered, closing his eyes against the horrors of his meds-addled imagination

Grinning too, sharing the same joke, Ford then grew serious again, giving Carson's arm a gentle shake

"Hey, doc, should you be doing that…?" he asked anxiously, recalling his CO's earlier advice. "Only Major Sheppard said with this concussion, and all, I had to keep you awake, and talking, and…"

"Och, did he now…?" Carson asked mildly, cranking one eye open in deeply sceptical amusement. "An' what else did _Dr_ Sheppard ha'e to say about me…?"

Taking the tactful fifth on that one, Ford just grinned and settled for a wisely non-committal shrug

"'sides, lad, I'd h've thought you'd enjoy the peace and quiet…" Carson then added just as dryly – meeting Ford's eyes with none of the hurt he'd dreaded, only fond affection, as he closed his eyes. "No, son, I – I need to rest now… jus' wake me up ev'ry two hours, make sure I'm still lucid…"

"Every two hours… you got it…" Ford grinned, setting the alarm on his watch for good measure

By the time he looked up again, Carson Beckett had drifted into a deep, preciously healing sleep – pretty much scuppering all hopes for the further, fence-building talk he knew they still needed.

The peaceful smile on his face, though…? Smiling too as he studied it, Ford knew it was enough. In fact, he reflected, resting a proud, protective hand on Carson's arm, it was _more_ than enough.

He'd given them the best part of the morning to talk things out, to try and settle their differences. Now, as he stood outside the Infirmary's still closed doors, John Sheppard couldn't help but wonder. The silence within _could_ be a good sign, of course. It could also mean there'd been _serious_ bloodshed.

Quietly hoping it wasn't the latter, John cautiously nudged the door open a crack and peered inside – encouraged enough by the peaceful scene that met them to venture further inside towards Carson's bed

His reception once he got there, it was… well, John had to dryly admit, it was _different_.

"Sh…!" Ford warned, adding a sheepish 'Sir…' before nodding to the huddle of blankets next to him. "Just got him settled again, and… well, let's just say he gets kinda cranky when you wake him up…"

"Yeah, I bet he does…" John deadpanned, still studying the snugly curled, peacefully sleeping figure – his next quiet words conveying every bit of his pride and relief as he re-met Ford's expectant eyes. "Nice job, Lieutenant… things are… well, looking one hell of a lot better here than when I left…"

Catching his CO's typically subtle undermeaning, Ford relaxed a little, grinning happily back at him.

"Yes, sir, they are…" he agreed softly, confident enough to try a little subtle undermeaning of his own. "The doc here, he's… well, he's quite something, sir… he's taught me one hell of a lot…"

"Yeah, he'll kinda do that for you…" John agreed softly, recalling his own learning curve encounter. Deciding he'd done enough brotherly preaching for one day, he then nodded towards Carson's hand.

"Including some more field medic skills too, I see…"

Thrown for a moment, Ford then shook his head while softly, and reverently, putting his CO straight.

"Actually, sir, he… um… well, the doc did that himself…" he explained, carefully checking the half empty IV –a wince of sympathy mirroring John Sheppard's quiet, typically dry and succinct response.

"He _did_…? Ouch…"

As if in subconscious agreement, Carson stirred in his sleep, rubbing fretfully at the tubing on his hand. Seemingly satisfied that it was still in place, he then sighed deeply, curling back under the covers.

Watching him settle in wisely silent amusement, CO and subordinate shared an equally proud smile.

"Yeah, he's quite the trouper alright…" Ford said at last, nodding back to the IV stand beside him. "I mean, you've seen the size of those needles, sir… had them jabbed in enough times yourself to… well, you know how much they hurt... yet the doc here, he just took the thing, calm as you like, and…"

"Yes, _thank_ you, Lieutenant… picture sketched, drawn _and_ coloured in…" John cut in quickly – making a mental note to discuss the finer points of 'non essential intel' at their next staff meeting.

Watching the sheepish realization dawn on his lieutenant's face, though, he couldn't help but smile. The quietest, most unlauded hero on the base, it seemed, had just found himself another admirer. And what a treat it was to hear his earlier words re-spoken, and understood, in such heartfelt pride.

"He... um... did what he had to do, sir... I - I mean, the doc knew he needed that IV to stop himself from deteriorating, and... well..."

"Yes, Ford, I know..." John nodded back at him, then rolled his eyes at the grinning tribute that followed.

"Guess this makes him a real storm-trouper... right, sir...?"

"We can name him later..." John shot back - although he, too, was grinning broadly as he said it.

He'd already guessed what the answer would be to his next question, but – well, just for the pride and pleasure of hearing and seeing that response, he asked it anyway.

"Just thought you'd like to know, the doc's teams should be getting back here in a few hours, so… well, if you want to go grab yourself some sack-time, I can keep an eye on him 'til they get here…"

As he'd hoped, and proudly expected, his lieutenant was already smiling back at him, shaking his head

"Thanks, sir, but… well, if it's okay with you, I'd like to stay… I – I kinda think he'd like me to…"

"Yeah, I can imagine he would…" John agreed, casting his second in command a gently probing glance. "Mind if I sit in with you until they get here…?"

The infectious grin grew wider as Ford chuckled softly, nodding to the huddle of blankets beside them

"Must admit, sir, that would be nice… at least then I can have a normal, two way conversation…"

Grinning back at him, John nodded too, drawing up a spare chair to the bedside before flopping into it.

"Yeah, he's something else alright…" he said at last, the rest of his thoughts spoken only to himself.

'_Spark out asleep_, _doc_, _and_… _hell_, _you just can_'_t_ _stop_ _with the healing_, _can you_…?'

Stretching back in his chair, John Sheppard then allowed himself a thoroughly contented smile. There were times when the burden of playing surrogate big brother could be a prize pain in the butt.

At times like these, though, with his family safe and sound and, thankfully, back in harmony…? Well, playing big brother was the best feeling in the world.


	5. Chapter 5 Greetings Frae Glasgow

By Its Cover

By Ann3

Writer's Note: This _was_ going to be the last in the series, but then I thought - Cadman ! So I'm going to keep this WIP open for now, both for Cadman's story and any others that may decide to inspire this sick, twisted wee mind of mine :o)

For now, though, it's Ronon's turn to find out that it's not a good idea to judge our favourite Scottish doctor on first impressions.

I've tried to write the dialogue from two relevant scenes in Runner as accurately here as I can (thank God for DVD players and instant rewind) but I'm not too sure about one of Ronon's lines – the one that comes after he tells Carson he's made one attempt to remove the transmitter himself.

From Carson's response, I'm sure it has something to do with doctors, but I just can't hear it properly. If anyone can put me straight on this, please, I'd really appreciate it – 'cos it's driving me nuts !

Credit for this story should really go to a certain Mr McGillion, who said in a recent magazine interview that he'd like to take on some of the baddies, in typical Glaswegian style. Well, Paul, your wish is my command – if only in the world of fanfic.

A word of warning, though – poor Carson doesn't escape entirely unscathed either… I hope he packed the Tylenol... ;o)

Chapter Five - Greetings Frae Glasgow

_This_ was his saviour…? This, as Sheppard had so glibly bragged, was his 'medical miracle worker'…?

Still frowningly studying the deer-stuck-in-headlights human before him, Ronon Dex then grunted. If this human, this Carson Beckett, really _was_ the best doctor in all the galaxies he could name, then – well, in still deeply sceptical eyes, the powers that be in those galaxies had lowered their standards.

All the doctors he'd ever known had caused him nothing but pain. Nothing but brutal suffering. The rarely found sensible ones, Ronon now smugly reflected, usually ran for their lives at this point – hence his surprise when this latest lamb to the slaughter continued to walk resolutely towards him.

The voice, too, for all its strangely accented uncertainty, also held a trustworthy directness.

"Hello… I normally don't make house calls like this, but then again, this isn't really a house, is it...?"

Shrewdly watching his every move, Ronon nodded towards the medical field kit in Carson's hand.

"What's in the case, doc…?"

To his surprise, the voice came back slightly stronger this time. Briskly firm, ready to take charge. No deceit to it either. It was, in the Satedan's still unwavering eyes, an interesting development.

"Surgical implements… diagnostic tools, various drugs… analgesics, antibiotics…"

Still struggling to follow this tumbling flurry of words, Ronon glanced quizzically at Teyla.

"What…?"

Realising that some proper introductions were long overdue, Teyla gracefully did the honours.

"Ronon, Dr Carson Beckett… Dr Beckett, Ronon…"

He'd reached them now, giving the Satedan his first, decent view of this unlikeliest of saviours. Stockily built, he was several inches shorter than Sheppard and, Ronon guessed, slightly younger too. Clear, straightforward blue eyes met and held his, from a face that expressed the same gentle honesty – the concern within them too genuine, too natural, to be feigned as Carson nodded a still wary greeting.

Never a fan of idle chit-chat, Ronon did the same, a trace of a smile quirking at the side of his mouth. Evidently this deer-eyed doctor with the strange name and even stranger accent felt the same way.

"Pleasure…" Carson muttered, making an admirable, if short-lived, attempt to stare Ronon down.

"I understand you have some sort of a transmitter on your back…" he went on, just as briskly – striding past Ronon to deposit his medical kits and rucksack of equipment on a nearby boulder. "Well, have a seat and off with the shirt now… let's have a look…"

Taken slightly aback by this shift in authority, Ronon re-asserted it via a terse order to Teyla.

"A little help…"

Complying without complaint, Teyla helped Carson to remove the bulky shirt from Ronon's body – her surprise at the scars on his chest matched only by the shock generated by those on his back.

"My God… tell me you didn't try to cut this thing out yourself…" Carson said at last, clearly shaken – already shocked eyes creasing still more, in outraged sympathy, as Ronon merely shrugged.

"Yeah, I tried once… with a mirror… couldn't quite reach… most of it's been done by doctors…"

"No one I know who calls himself a doctor would do this…" Carson retorted, shaking his head – anger at this corruption of his profession radiating from him as he rummaged through his med-kit.

Silently filing that anger away for further consideration, Ronon then turned to watch him work – his surprise now joined by curious interest at recognition of the technology in Carson's hand. A complete stranger to the Pegasus galaxy, able to use the gift of the Ancestors…? Interesting.

"Is that Ancestors technology…?"

"That it is…" Carson nodded, still studying the only Ancient device he felt happy to handle. Frowning at its readings, he then took a nerve-steadying breath. This was _not_ going to be easy. "Listen, you have to put that weapon down and lay down…"

The response was all he'd expected, compassionately understood – and silently dreaded.

"Not a chance…"

"Now you listen to me…" Carson went on, the compassionate understanding wilting just slightly. Appreciable distrust was one thing. Outright stupidity and pig-headedness were quite another. "I've located the transmitter, it's in soft tissue next to the second thoracic vertebrae…"

"Good… cut it out…"

Damn it, he _still_ wasn't getting it. Still not trusting him. Then again, given the way those butchers had sliced him open…

"I can't do that, with you sitting up like this…" Carson explained, fighting to keep his tone calm. "Now I'm going to have to give you some anaesthetic to make you sleep…"

"No, you're not…"

Silently moving the Satedan to the top of his pain-in-the-butt patient list, Carson stared at him in frank disbelief.

"_Excuse_ me…?"

Sensing the eruption that was now simmering between them, Teyla stepped in to gently avert it.

"Ronon, you need to trust us…"

She'd just been trying to help – which made Ronon's reaction to her efforts all the more ironic. And, to Carson's now saucer-wide, horrified eyes, all the more terrifying

"I do… that's why _he_'_s_ here, and _you_'_re_ still alive…"

To her credit, Teyla didn't flinch, even as Ronon levelled his weapon straight towards her heart.

Then again, thankfully unnoticed, Carson was doing enough inner flinching for both of them – Ronon's next softly growled order met with a rapid nod of agreement and no trace at all of argument.

"Now, get to work, doc…"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It had taken him the best part of an hour to get his makeshift OR prepared and set up to his liking. And with so much at stake, not least his life and Teyla's, Carson Beckett wasn't taking any chances. His only comfort, albeit a tenuous one, was that Ronon hadn't complained at the time it had taken to set out his stall.

Even so, there was a threeway sense of relief as, still studying his efforts, Carson finally nodded – feeling honour bound to make one last attempt to talk some sense into the all-time patient from hell.

"Okay, I'm ready… look, I just want to say one last time, I really don't think this is a good idea… I'm going to be cutting very close to your spinal column here… if – if you were to flinch…"

"I won't flinch…" Ronon growled, in a tone of voice that left very little room for further argument.

Oh, crap…

Realising he was arguing a lost cause, Carson took a deep, steadying breath and flipped down his visor

"Okay, here we go…" he said at last, hoping he sounded a hell of a lot more confident than he felt. Absently noting how cold it felt in his hand, he selected a scalpel from Teyla's silently offered tray. Forcing himself to focus, Carson took another deep, nerve calming breath. Then another. And started to cut.

Almost immediately, he could feel Ronon's shoulders tense beneath his other, bracing hand – this knowledge of causing such agony to his patient crashing against everything Carson believed in.

"Easy, son… easy, I'm almost there… easy now, lad…" he said at last, wincing in his own private hell – not even trying to keep the relief, or the triumph, from his voice, as his forceps finally hit their goal.

"I think I got it…"

Working as quickly as he dared, Carson eased them back through walls of slippery, bloody muscle – another rush of giddying relief rushing through him as redly dripping metal finally, blessedly, emerged

Not surprisingly, that giddiness wasn't just affecting him now, as Ronon tilted warningly sideways. Only Teyla's lightning-fast reflexes saved him from a much heavier, more painful landing.

Helping her to gently ease his deadweight body to the ground beside them, Carson then met her eyes – the pride and relief he found there returned with just the slightest of physically drained smiles.

That, Carson Beckett now dazedly reflected, had been close. _Very_ close. _Too_ damn close. And when John Sheppard finally deigned to join them, Carson fervently vowed, he'd wring his bloody neck.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They were impressive. Ronon had to admit, albeit grudgingly, that his surroundings _were_ impressive. If not for the nerve-splitting pain in his back, he might have been able to appreciate them fully, but – well, for the moment, at least, the wonders of Atlantis' state of the art Infirmary would have to wait.

The gently exasperated voice in front of him, though…? Well, that was another matter entirely.

"So then, lad, here we are again… and I hear you're still needin' my help…?"

Ronon didn't remember doing so, but he must have nodded, since Carson now moved towards him – with, he noted dryly, rather more confidence than he'd done in yesterday's first, fraught meeting.

"Right then, lad, let's be takin' a look at ye… see how my handiwork's healing…" he added briskly, snapping on his gloves – the glance of amused relief which then passed between his two companions not passing unnoticed.

Evidently both of them were used to this peculiar voice giving out these defy-me-if-you-dare orders. And both clearly held its owner, this proudly lauded 'doctor of all doctors…' in duly respectful regard. In the eyes of his latest, still wary patient, it was an oddly comforting, increasingly humbling thought.

"I cannae do much for ye, son, if ye keep skitterin' away from me… bloody hell, lad, you're worse than Rodney..."

Frowning once more at this flurry of peculiar words, Ronon glanced quizzically across at Sheppard – allowing himself just the trace of a smile at the colonel's deadpanned, wryly shrugged translation.

"He… uh… means he can't do much to help you if… well, if you don't let him near you… and as for Rodney..."

It was clearly a familiar and ongoing, if somewhat irreverent, routine of gentle teasing between them. And, judging by the patient sigh that followed, the helpful translations were not always welcome.

"Yes, _thank_ you, Colonel… I don't think we need to break out the universal translators just yet…"

As that colonel fell ruefully and, no doubt, sensibly silent, Carson returned his attentions to Ronon – a single raised eyebrow doing its usual, effortless job in wiping smirks from unwisely smug faces.

Yet for all their stern, no-nonsense expression, the gentleness in those eyes refused to waver – the trust they were silently asking from him finally returned as Ronon remained dutifully still.

Even with his life held in several hours of terrifying balance, this doctor had stayed true to his word. Where many others had failed, he'd managed to remove, and forever destroy, the bane of his life.

The source of his suffering, the Wraith's brutal means of control over him, was finally gone. For the first time in seven years, Ronon could consider himself as truly, undeniably free. And while its full meaning still eluded him – well, John Sheppard's fable had taught him enough. He owed Carson Beckett his life. If necessary, he'd give that same life to protect his 'Androcles'.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Damn it, Colonel, we – we can't let them take him like this, they'll kill him…! Do something…!"

His nerves already as taut as a spring, John Sheppard needed McKay's outburst like a hole in the head.

"In case you hadn't noticed, Rodney, they've got a hulking great knife at his throat…" he hissed, tearing his eyes away from the terrifying standoff in front of him to glare at his agitated team-mate. "And seeing as they're so keen to keep hold of him for themselves, they're hardly likely to kill him… but if we try to rush them, they'll kill him for sure… if we just try to reason with them, to negotiate…"

He'd tried to sound convincing, to offer an anxious friend the same reassurance he needed himself.

Except they'd already been standing out here now, in blistering heat, for the last forty minutes – trying to negotiate, through furious helplessness and bitter anger, the safe release of one of their own. And getting nowhere.

In the small part of his mind not consumed by frantic thinking, he could understand McKay's anguish. He'd no doubt meant all the credits, all the glowing laudations, as the simple tributes of a proud friend.

He could never have known, or anticipated, that his well meaning intentions would backfire as disastrously as this.

Oh yes, he'd happily told anyone who would listen, Carson Beckett was the _best_ doctor he'd _ever_ known. In fact, he was the best doctor in the _galaxy_.

For the last five days, the nomadic people of Tetrea had gratefully seen proof of that for themselves. In that time, Carson had managed to identify, and successfully treat, a virus that had ravaged their numbers for generations.

But from this simple gesture of help and humane kindness, that's where the trouble had started – because now they'd made it suddenly clear, terrifyingly clear, that they didn't want to give him back.

Their move had come without warning, too swiftly, for John Sheppard to do anything to stop it – the deadly glint of metal lodged at Carson's throat instantly ending all thoughts of protesting reprisal.

It had already left a telltale track of redness across his neck, from where he'd instinctively struggled. Held in a truly deadly embrace by his captors, stricken in helpless terror, Carson Beckett hadn't moved a muscle since.

And it was the frustration of his own helplessness that was grating at John Sheppard's nerves. He knew, from bitter experience, that the longer this standoff continued, the worse things would get. And for his assurances to try and calm McKay down, the brutal truth still nagged at them both.

Yes, the Tetreans would keep Carson alive for as long as they needed his help, but then what…? Taken prisoner by such dangerously unpredictable people, the answer just didn't bear thinking about.

Carson's thoughts had clearly followed the same track, and come to the same terrifying conclusion – eyes that were wide in panic and pain swinging, once more, to the only person who could stop it from happening.

Yet beyond their terror, their stricken helplessness, John Sheppard could now read something else – something that made him, with undetectable smoothness, slowly adjust his grip on his P90.

His friend was clearly planning some kind of bid to escape. John just wished he knew what it was. All he could do was pass the message to the rest of his team – and pray the Tetreans didn't notice.

Luckily they were too distracted in controlling Carson, dragging him back towards their camp, to see, or hear, the briefest of covert whispers.

"Carson's planning something… get ready…"

To his open relief, McKay's potentially disastrous response failed, mercifully, to materialise. Instead he just nodded in silent acknowledgement, leaving it to Ronon to cynically mutter the obvious.

"He's no warrior, Sheppard… how can you expect him to fight…?"

"I kinda think that's the idea… just be ready…" John hissed back, defying any further argument – leaving him free to pass an equally vital, unspoken message back to their captive friend.

'…_whatever you_'_re_ _planning_, _Carson_, _we_'_ve_ _got_ _you covered_…'

It may have been a trick of blindingly strong sunlight, but the stricken face seemed to relax a little. There was no such doubt, though, over the abrupt, far more pronounced relaxing of Carson's body – its sudden collapse to the ground coming as a complete, shocking surprise to everyone around him… except, of course, to Carson himself.

As his startled captor struggled to haul his deadweight body upright, a single leg lashed outwards – the consequent doubling over of its target giving Carson just the precious few seconds he needed.

Taking advantage of every one of them, he wriggled and struggled until he regained vital balance. With strength borne of pure adrenalin, Carson then slammed his forehead against that of his captor – its force of impact causing captor and captive alike to stagger a few vital, precious feet apart.

John Sheppard now gladly did the rest – which, all things considered, was really just as well. Having Glaswegian kissed his way to freedom, Carson Beckett was in no fit state for a second attempt.

His next, groggy-headed awareness as he slumped to the ground was a flurry of motion around him – McKay and Teyla running protectively to his side while two furious, unmistakeable voices joining the cacophony of agony which erupted through his skull.

"Drop that knife now, or so help me, I'll drop _you_ right here, right _now_…! Now, _drop it_…! Get away from him...!"

"You so much as _breathe_ too loud, I'll blow your head off…"

Beyond the mind-splitting agony in his head, Carson felt a shaky smile make its way to his mouth. Furious colonels, even angrier Satedans, he dazedly reflected, really had quite the way with words. It was an oddly comforting thought as Carson then surrendered, inevitably, to deep and silent darkness.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Somewhere between making it back to the Jumper and leaving Tetrea, a minor miracle had taken place. On top of all the doctorates that he never tired of citing, Rodney McKay had somehow gained another. In fact, they'd all become medical experts as they'd carried their unconscious CMO into the Jumper.

Laying him flat on one of the seatbanks, Teyla and Rodney had done all they could to revive him – no mean feat as John Sheppard had banked and arrowed the Jumper into the relative safety of Tetrean space.

The knife wounds to Carson's neck and along his collar bone had been thankfully superficial – the bleeding from them easily controlled, blessedly stopped, by field dressings from his medical kit.

It was the bloodied lump on his forehead, though, its associated concussion, which was still causing considerable concern. In the thirty minutes since they'd run for their lives from the Tetrean villagers, Carson Beckett hadn't moved, hadn't flinched. Hadn't made a sound. Being slung over Ronon's shoulder as they'd raced back to the Jumper certainly hadn't helped his already fragile condition.

It was now proving a real struggle to keep their bruised and bloodied CMO vitally conscious – although where his newly assigned deputy was concerned, it wasn't for the want of trying.

And it had to be said that the bedside manner of Dr Rodney McKay left rather a lot to be desired – especially to an already sore and suffering _real_ doctor who now found himself on its receiving end.

So far, he'd been poked, prodded, blinded by penlights and almost asphyxiated with smelling salts. Not surprisingly, Dr Carson Beckett, MD, had now distinctly, and most definitely, had enough.

"F'r G'dss'ke, R'dn'y, bu'ger off... 'r so h'lp me, I'll blo'dy Gl'sgow kiss you too…!"

Trying to make sense of Carson Beckett's accent when he was tired and irritable could be difficult. Trying to understand it when he was tired, irritable and heavily concussed was close to impossible – but still highly entertaining to all those lucky enough not to be in direct range of its mumbling wrath.

As much as he was enjoying it, John Sheppard now felt some brotherly intervention was called for.

"Hey, will you two kids settle down back there…? You're giving me a headache…!"

The plaintive protest from one of those kids was faint with pain and exhaustion, still tellingly slurred – but it still caused John Sheppard's already broad smile to proudly and happily widen.

"_Y_'_ve_ got a he'dache, son…? Th'nk how _I_ blo'dy feel…!"

Winking back at an equally amused Teyla, John then glanced across to his other cockpit companion – dryly noting that his expression varied between humouring amusement and complete confusion.

"These two like this all the time…?" Ronon asked at last, jerking his head towards the two in question.

Turning in his seat to follow the Satedan's line of sight, John Sheppard then grinned and shrugged – turning a convenient blind eye to Teyla's raised eyebrowed, quizzical disbelief at what he said next.

"Oh yeah, pretty much… luckily they've got me around to… um, you know, keep 'em in line…"

Watching McKay still fretting and fussing over their injured friend, he then grew slightly more serious

"Hey, just hang in there, Carson… I'll have you home soon, then we can get you to a _real_ doctor…"

"'_m_ a real d'ct'r…" came the inevitable, slurrily peeved response as Carson tried to sit upright – this recklessly unwise move thankfully checked by Teyla as she eased him back down again, holding him gently cradled in her lap.

"Yes, Carson, we know that…" she soothed him, keeping a gentle hand of restraint on his shoulder. "But you are also injured, so _we_ must look after you now. Just try to lie still, we are almost home…"

Glassy blue eyes squinted up at her for a moment, before Carson managed a faintly conceding grin.

"'kay…" he finally murmured, trying to focus his eyes on the hand that now gently stroked his cheek – all further protest melting away into a contented sigh as Teyla rested a soothingly cool, dampened cloth across his forehead.

Watching him nestle more snugly into Teyla's lap, Rodney McKay couldn't help but raise a peevishly miffed point.

"Hey, how come I don't get all this Florence Nightingale treatment when _I_ get hurt…?"

"Must be those big, beautiful, baby blue eyes… right, doc…?" John Sheppard chipped in with a helpful wink – the inevitable sulky reminder that '_I_ have blue eyes too…' falling on conveniently deaf ears.

Beyond all the teasing, though, those baby blue eyes were starting to drift closed once more – prompting another round of gently chivvying calls to persuade Carson to open them again.

"Hey, Carson, stay with us… come on, buddy, you've got to stay awake…"

"Yes, Carson, you have a concussion, remember…? You cannot go to sleep, you _must_ stay awake…"

"Aye, l'ss, I – I know… need to – to ke'p me 'wake… ke – keep me t'lkin'…" Carson murmured – his eyes then widening, in puzzled surprise, as a new voice gruffly compelled him to do just that.

"You fought well, doc... took guts... didn't think you had it in you..."

Rising from his seat, Ronon then ambled through to where Carson was lying and planted himself on the seats opposite - clearly determined to play his part in keeping him conscious.

"This kiss from Glasgow, doc… tell me about it…"

Equally surprised by Ronon's unexpected contribution, John Sheppard then felt himself smile as he listened to an albeit sleepily rambling account of 'Glaswegian kissing.'

Only a week ago, the Satedan had kept Carson Beckett at gunpoint for several harrowing hours. Yet that daunting experience had still forged a special bond of respectful friendship between them.

Forever indebted to the gentle doctor who'd saved his life, Ronon had become his lifelong guardian – prompting a softly proud afterthought as John turned back to piloting his team, his family, safely home.

"Yeah, way to go on the greetings from Glasgow, Carson… we'll make a diplomat of you yet…"


	6. Chapter 6 Dr Whooohoooo

By Its Cover

By Ann3

Writer's Note: Apologies, first of all, for the sub-title. Blame it on too much choccy over Easter ! It kinda made me go a bit hyper… ;o)

Just been watching Duet, for… um… well, you know, _research_ purposes, and… it's the grey suit. No, really, it's the sight of our Carson in _that_ suit. Every time I watch him running across that field, this happy little voice in my head just seems to go 'Whoo hoo, get that boy off-world more often !'

So with apologies to _another_ certain time travelling Doctor, here's Cadman's thoughts on our hero. And since he's been whumped senseless in the last few chapters, I'm giving the poor wee thing something to smile about in this one. As always, I hope you enjoy !

Dr Whoo-hoo

Laura Cadman didn't like doctors. No, more than that, she _hated_ doctors. She _loathed_ doctors. Unless they were rich, single and looked like George Clooney, she didn't want to know.

Ever since she'd come reeling out of her last physical with her arm resembling a damn pin-cushion – well, if she'd had her P90 handy, she'd have shown that idiot CMO exactly what she'd thought of him.

His calamitous attempts to draw blood from her paled into insignificance, however, to what Laura now heard about Dr Carson Beckett. The CMO at their new posting, it seemed, had one hell of a reputation behind him – none of it good.

"Well, _I_ heard he was a walking disaster area…" Judy Hobson revealed in a conspiratory whisper – glancing furtively around her, before leaning in to continue what was clearly a _not_ so secret secret. "When he was back on Antarctica, he fired one of those drone weapons at General O'Neill…! Nearly took him and Maj- Colonel Sheppard out...!"

From where she sat, nosed buried in botanic reports, Katie Brown stared at her friend in utter alarm.

"He – He _did_…? I – I mean, _deliberately_…?"

It was a good thing she'd brought those reports. At least she could now hide her blushes behind them.

As much as she was enjoying the joke too Laura felt honour bound to make sure it didn't go too far.

"Oh, come on, he can't be that bad…! I mean, there's that oath that all doctors swear by, that…"

"…they'll do no harm… yeah, I know…" Judy nodded, clearly enjoying her moment in the spotlight. "But from what _I_ hear, he's got this freaky Ancient gene thing, that General O'Neill has too, and… well, he can fire these alien weapons, and do all sorts of other weird stuff, just by using his mind…!"

While not one to be swayed by idle, often wildly inaccurate gossip, Laura felt her curiosity pique. If nothing else, this CMO on Atlantis, this Dr Carson Beckett sounded… _interesting_.

'_I bet George Clooney can_'_t_ _launch the most powerful weapons in the world just by using his mind_…'

From the all knowing mouth of Judy Hobson came further pearls of not entirely positive wisdom.

"And on top of all that, he's… he's… _Scottish_…"

The joys of their new CMO's homeland clearly hadn't made it beyond the ties of ignorant stereotyping. Along with pained winces of dismay, a chorus of groans now rippled through the Daedalus' mess-hall.

"Oh, jeez… _Scottish_…"

"Mean…"

"Miserable…"

"No sense of humour…"

"Freaky liking for sheep…"

"Yeah, and what's with them _eating_ something made out of the damn thing's _stomach_…?"

"Tell me about it… had to have the damn stuff at my cousin's wedding…"

"You _did_…? _Eeeeeeeeew_…!"

Suffering a strangely instant loss in appetite, Laura Cadman stared morosely at her abandoned lunch. Oh, this was just great. As soon as they arrived on Atlantis, the first thing they'd face was the CMO. And if she'd not been dreading that indignity before – well, she was sure as hell dreading it now.

All those tests. Hours of being poked and prodded by a mean, miserable, haggis-loving Scotsman. Knowing her luck, he was probably as ugly as hell too, _and_ old. Old enough to be her damn father.

So it was with some trepidation that, several hours later, Laura Cadman arrived at her new posting.

The reception committee was already there in the control room, casually looking over the new intake.

A tall, elegantly austere woman who had to be, could _only_ be, the expedition leader, Dr Weir. Flanking her, already earning appreciatively admiring murmurs, stood her newly promoted CO.

And next to Colonel Sheppard…? That warmly smiling figure, stethoscope draped around an unmistakeably white labcoat…?

'_Take a hike_, _Mr Clooney_… '_cos if that_'_s_ _who I think it is_, I_ think I_'_m in love_…'

She was silently salivating. She knew her jaw had just hit the metaphorical floor. But she didn't care. Happily drinking in one _seriously_ lunchable CMO, Laura Cadman didn't care at _all_.

In an equally lovelorn daze, Judy Hobson now placed herself in peril of an equally serious cat-fight.

"Hey, is – is that _him_…? If that's Beckett, he can launch _my_ drones _any_ time he likes…"

"Back off, sister, he's mine… _I_ saw him first… _and_ I outrank you…" Laura growled back at her – whatever she'd planned to say next lost, perhaps thankfully, in Elizabeth Weir's brisk greeting.

"Welcome to Atlantis… I'm sure if you're looking for interesting challenges, you'll find them here…"

Safely locked within her imagination, Laura Cadman was thinking out a few challenges of her own. All of them involved the drop dead gorgeous doctor who now stood listening to his leader's words. And none of those challenges, it had to be said, were suitable for sharing out loud.

They were clearly close, she mused, dragging those thoughts out of increasingly murky depths – allowing herself to smile too as she watched a brotherly pride further enhance that striking face.

In fact, Laura now noted, they _all_ seemed to share this near familial bond of caring protectiveness. After the horrors she'd witnessed in Afghanistan, it was a warmly reassuring, comforting thought – almost as warm, almost as reassuring, as the dimpled smile that now directed itself towards her.

She could see his eyes too now, an impossibly clear blue, as he stepped forward to introduce himself – a playful brogue instantly undoing all those preconceptions on mean, miserable, humourless Scotsmen.

"Well now, lads and lassies… for those who didn't know me at the SGC, I'm Dr Carson Beckett… I'm your CMO here, in charge of your medical care, so if you have any questions, ye just have to ask, and... oh, aye... and if ye have trouble with my accent, I'm sure the Colonel here won't mind translating for ye…"

"Yeah, universal translators come as standard kit when the doc's around…" Sheppard shot back – prompting another wave of appreciative laughter, and the promise of deeply painful revenge.

Chuckling too at that priceless 'You'll pay for that...' expression, Laura allowed her thoughts to once again happily wander. Yes, he was older than she was. In a position of such responsible authority, he'd simply _had_ to be.

Not _too_ much older, though. Mid thirties, at a guess… just a shade younger than her new CO. Certainly not that much senior to her to deter her, or stop her, from getting to know him better.

And she _was_ going to get to know him better. Laura Cadman had already promised herself that.

'_Face_, _eyes and a smile that could stop traffic_… _talk about your weapons of mass distraction_…'

Suddenly recalling a far less charitable discussion over destructive weaponry, Laura then cringed. Damn it, did possession of the Ancient gene also include the ability to read other people's minds…? Had he been silently eavesdropping on _all_ she'd been thinking since she'd seen him, including…?

Oh, crap.

If he had – well, she was now in as much deep water, up that creek without a paddle, as her new CO.

Forcing herself to ignore its many distractions, Laura made herself look up, to meet his face again – breathing a silent sigh of pure relief when that warm smile offered her nothing but friendliness.

She thought she could read something else in his eyes, something that shyly hoped for more, but – well, her lovelorn imagination had already made quite enough of an idiot of itself for one day.

So instead, Laura smiled back, quietly setting herself another, more reasonably rated challenge. She wasn't sure if she'd read his eyes correctly, or misread the silent hopes within them, but – oh yes, she now happily reflected, it was going to be _great_ fun finding out.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was the light freshness of his cologne that first penetrated the foggy dimness of her senses. Soft, under-stated and unfailingly charming. Just like the voice that now quietly coaxed her awake.

"Lieutenant…? Laura…? Can ye hear me, lass…? Can ye try and open your eyes for me…?"

If she'd had the strength and energy, Laura might have been tempted to go far more enjoyably further than that. All things considered, though… well, there seemed little chance of that happening any time soon.

Kissing Carson Beckett had been every bit as fantastic as she'd hoped, except for one _tiny_ problem. Her lovelorn consciousness had been stuck inside Rodney McKay's lame excuse for a body at the time. In physical terms, it had been _his_ mouth, not hers, that had latched like a limpet onto that of his deer-eyed friend.

Needless to say, as far as Laura was concerned, that had taken pretty much all of the pleasure out of the experience.

'_Damn it_, _McKay_…! _As_ _if you're not insufferable enough_, _you_ _got to snog_ _my_ _would be boyfriend_…!'

A stunned, speechless, scandalized Carson Beckett hadn't exactly looked thrilled about it either – especially since an eyes-out-on-stalks John Sheppard had been standing just feet away from him at the time. So had Dr Weir. McKay's team, and quite an army of Carson's.

'_Oh_, _jeez_… _someone_, _please_, _just shoot me now_… _better still_, _give me a gun and_ _I_'_ll_ _shoot McKay instead_…'

Perhaps thankfully interpreting her groan of embarrassment as one of discomfort, he called her again – the strong hand that slipped so easily around her own so comforting that she couldn't bear to let it go.

"Laura…? Come on, lass, I know you're in there… come on, now, love, it's time to wake up now…"

He called all the women on the base 'love', of course, so Laura knew it wasn't unusual, and yet… was there just a hint of extra warmth in its use this time, a special affection, destined just for her…? And at least if she _did_ open her eyes, she'd also get to see and quietly savour his smile.

It was as warm and cheerfully friendly as ever, broadening in open relief in response to her recovery. His voice, too, held no trace of anger or chastisement – only the gentleness that was his and his alone.

"There ye are now, lass… aye, that's more like it… how are ye feeling…? Can I get ye anything…?"

Still trying to gauge the mood between them, Laura managed to dredge up a weak grin in return.

"Got a good cure for terminal embarrassment…?" she asked at last, pulling an appropriate face – cautiously joining in his amusement as Carson Beckett dissolved into fits of equally sheepish laughter

"If there _is_, lass, then… well, I rather think _he_'_ll_ be needing more of it than you…" he retorted dryly, making a point of giving her hand another gentle squeeze as Laura anxiously followed his guiding nod. "Don't worry, lass, he'll be okay, he's just sleeping it off… the both of ye will be just fine now…"

Nodding in still pensive agreement, Laura turned her head back again to hesitantly re-meet his eyes.

"What – What about us, are we…? I – I mean, are _we_ okay…?"

He'd clearly been anticipating this moment, since Carson now smiled, blushing deep into his dimples.

"Aye, lass, of course we are… he assured her gently, tilting his head in playful, teasing encouragement. "Why wouldn't we be…?"

Duly encouraged, Laura grinned back at him, shrugging in the same casual, mischievous innocence.

"Oh, I don't know…" she shot back, hoping the sudden rush of warmth to her face wasn't _too_ obvious. "I just thought, you know, the whole manhandling you thing in the lab back there while trying to suck out your tonsils..."

She'd been quietly dreading this moment ever since she'd acted on that make-or-break impulse. So the relief she now felt as Carson broke once more into albeit sheepish laughter was almost palpable.

"Aye, lass… aye, that was… um… well, a definite first for me, I'd have to admit…" he said at last – making a show of looking around them, before leaning in closer to add a slyly winked afterthought. "Although that's not to say I didnae enjoy it, Laura, or… well, that I'm sorry it happened…"

As Laura stared at him, in delighted surprise, he then glared towards his other, gently snoring patient

"All I regret, lass, is that _I_ didn't get to enjoy the best part of it, whereas _that_ lucky bugger did…!"

If ever there was a chance to put that grievous wrong right, Laura dazedly reflected, this was it. Apart from a soundly snoring McKay, she and Carson were the only people in the Infirmary. But to her frustrated chagrin, the lousily timed needs of Ronon's latest sparring partner put paid to that.

Still, there was a definite plus side as she watched him hurry to Major Lorne's ruefully limping aid. Even in those less than flattering, baggy fatigues, Dr Carson Beckett really had the _cutest_ buns.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Laura Cadman could have been forgiven for thinking she'd travelled through her very own time-warp wormhole. For the second time that week, she found herself striding through a field of sweetly scented flowers.

There were differences, though, between this time and the last. Several happily enjoyable differences. For one thing, there was no unwelcome third wheel, driving her nuts with his self-centred whining. No whining, either, of a far more terrifying kind. No unmistakeable sound of an incoming Dart. And no fear lurking at the back of her mind of finding more victims of the Wraith's brutal scourge.

No, the only obstacle between her and Carson Beckett now was the inevitable constraint of time. Sent on a routine mission together to the mainland, she'd been determined to make the most of it.

After what she'd been through… well, all clichés aside, it really _would_ be just what the doctor ordered. For one thing, they'd be able to talk through what had happened without the intrusion of yet more, increasingly tiresome teasing gossip.

And as John Sheppard had dryly observed, _he_ was going to benefit from this budding romance too – his less than romantic motive met with a gentle slap of rebuke on his chest from his equally amused companion.

'_I_'_ll_ _have to send Cadman off_-_world more often_, _Liz_… _get her more field experience_...'_cos_ _where_ **_she_** _goes_, _you_ _can_ _just_ _bet that our Carson's just gonna be **itching** to follow, and_… **_ow_**…!'

Still laughing, pointedly ignoring that infamous whipped puppy expression, she'd then nodded towards the hovering Jumper.

'_I tell you now_, _John_… _if Carson hears you say that_, _I **won**_**'_t_** _be_ _responsible for the consequences_...'

Pulling a face back at her, John had then grinned as he'd followed the line of proudly approving eyes. For all the teasing and ulterior motives, he was as happy for Carson's good fortune as Elizabeth was – his next words met with another, thankfully slap-free nod of agreement as they'd watched them leave.

'_Have fun_, _kids_… _and don_'_t_ _do_ _anything I wouldn_'_t do_…'

Such frivolous thoughts, of course, had never entered Laura's mind as they'd arrived on the mainland. Instead she'd kept that mind focussed on the job until the official part of their visit was safely over – staying protectively close to Carson's side while he gave the Athosians their latest medical checks.

Now, as they walked back to the Jumper, a smile of pure pleasure spread across Carson's face as he gazed around their surroundings.

"Ye know, lass…? With just a wee bit of heather and some sheep, I could almost think I was home… all this lovely countryside and fresh air, and... ah, this looks like a good spot... I dinna know about you, lass, but I'm ready for some eats..."

Grinning back at her, Carson then deposited their hamper, with some gratitude, onto the ground – his near childlike enthusiasm as he rummaged through its contents effortlessly squeezing Laura's heart.

The small, well-wrapped package that he eventually flourished, though, in such patriotic triumph…? Well, that kinda moved the squeezing sensation from her heart down to the pit of her stomach.

He must have seen her reaction, since that adorable smile fell instantly back into a wince of dismay.

"Oh, _crap_…" he moaned, starting another frantic, parcel tossing search for a more palatable alternative. "I'm – I'm sorry, lass, what was I thinking…? I didn't think to ask if you'd had haggis before, and… damn, I – I was sure I'd packed some sandwiches too… and some wee pies and cakes too, where the hell are they…? I bet that bloody McKay got his thieving mitts on 'em first… I swear I'll kill him if he has… or…"

As much as she was enjoying this masterclass in utter panic, Laura couldn't let it go on much longer – because if she did, _she_'_d_ explode with laughter, and Carson Beckett would explode in frustration.

How to get him to stop hurling those parcels around, though…? Well, yeah, like _that_ took too much thinking about.

Caught totally by surprise by its depth and intensity, Carson Beckett didn't know what had hit him. No, he then dazedly corrected himself, he knew _what,_ or rather _who, _had hit him. He just couldn't quite believe how hard.

She'd clearly been following his advice of eating more porridge, since she'd blindsided him flat onto his back. Now she was fitting herself most enjoyably on top of him, kissing him. Kissing him senseless. Kissing him until his toes curled up in his boots, and… _ooooooh_…!

Finally allowing him up for air, Laura then grinned down at him, raising a mischievous eyebrow.

"Better than McKay…?" she asked at last, a strategically placed hand silently daring him to say no.

Too dazed to think, let alone talk, Carson just stared at her. Then he, too, let the devil into his smile.

"Would ye be awfy, _awfy_ mad at me if I said no…?" he asked, deliberately exaggerating his accent – whatever he'd planned to say next lost in a shriek of laughter at the speed of her exquisite response.

Still tickling him, Laura allowed her grin to widen in the perverse delight of being proved wrong.

Mean…? Miserable…? No sense of humour…? Not where _this_ particular Scotsman was concerned. And he was hers. Undeniably, irrevocably, soon to be _very_ enjoyably, Dr Carson Beckett was _hers_.

At long last, she'd found the doctor of her dreams. Now, if she just get her head around the whole haggis thing…


End file.
